


The Baelishes: Tumblr Tidbits

by WriterChick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Connecting Tumblr to AO3, F/M, What Can I Say?, and gruesome ones too, and sweet moments, anything goes!, it's a mob life, lots of kinks, super explicit, tidbits that didn't fit in the series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 75,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: This is an ongoing compilation of the pieces (including the prompts) that take place in The Baelishes modern mobster dark sansa au, that do not appear in the parts published here on AO3 in the series.  These are all the tidbits that have been posted on tumblr, now migrated over to AO3 for increased accessibility.  This will probably never be a finished work as it is now where all random scenes and prompts that don't fit into the main series will be deposited, and the ideas only keep flowing.  In short, this is all the "extra" for The Baelishes, tied together in a bow!





	1. An Explanation to the Reader

Dear Reader, 

 

This is a collection of the random scenes that pop into my head while writing The Baelishes.  

 

I had a habit of just writing it out and throwing it up on tumblr to get it out of my head so I could continue working on whatever chapter I was on at the time.  That's the thing about obsessive personalities, we hyper focus on something and then if something else comes into the mix that doesn't fit, it totally gunks up our works until we find a way to release it.  

 

Tumblr's been my way to get random scenes out of my brain, so I can focus again.  That being said, these distractions all connect to the The Baelishes universe and should be kept track of somehow.  Thus this work on AO3 has been created.  It is not a finished work, and I suspect it will never officially be completed as it is here on out the dumping ground for my Baelishes tidbits.  

 

WARNING: it's all unedited because whatever chapter I was picking at during the time it popped into my head took precedence.  I happen to like the person willing to beta for me too much to pile gobs of my drabbles on her.  I simply write too much for any human being to edit for me all the time unless it became their life, and boo to that, lol.  

 

So.  Those of you who have Tumblr, this is all review and therefore probably not exciting at all.  For those of you who enjoy The Baelishes and do not have a tumblr account, this is a chance to read some new content that does not necessarily fit into any specific part of the series, but happened in the series nevertheless.  For me, it is just nice to have it all in one place to refer back to easily later, I'm selfish that way ;-)  

 

How this is going to work:  

Tidbits and drabbles happen at random and therefore will be posted at random.  I can't schedule my brain.  

In The Baelishes, it's from Petyr and Sansa's POV -- Tidbits and Drabbles have also been in other POVs, so I'll put in a note up at the top of each entry who's POV it's in.  

These random scenes happen at all different times through The Baelishes au timeline, so I will also indicate in the notes at the top of each entry when it takes place in the universe.  

 

I am currently tracking down all these little tumblr scribbles, so if you are a tumblr user and you see one that is in The Baelishes au, that isn't added to this compilation, please message me and I will add it right away.  I gotta keep track of this stuff!  LoL  

 

Lastly, thank you again to everyone who's been following this series and welcome to any newcomers.  I've truly enjoyed playing around this fantasy land for the better part of a year now, and have no one but you to thank for it.  The excitement for me would have fizzled out long ago if it weren't for your encouragement.  Thank you for your patience with the unedited, and sticking with this series through the ups, downs, and the all-the-fuck-arounds!  

Sincerely, 

WriterChick

@0writerchick0 on tumblr

 

 


	2. The Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grown up Elenei's pov -- way in the future, possibly after series is completed, no idea how long the series will go

There were some things from her childhood that Elenei would always remember: the smell of her mother’s favorite lotion, the Altoids her father chewed religiously, and her little brother’s penchant for leaving his toenail clippings on the bathroom floor by the trashcan.  There were also the darker unshakable memories that would haunt her if she hadn’t learned how to carry them for so long: the smell of a freshly fired gun, the syrupy feel of blood between her fingers coupled with the sound of car windows shattering around her, and the determined look on her mother’s face as she unloaded two magazines at the one handed man who made Daddy mad.  These memories were as much a part of her as her own flesh.  

Though, it was The Rules that she would never– _could never,_ forget.  They had been ingrained in her since birth, recited each night before bedtime, by her father and mother:  

  1. Treat all guns as though they are loaded. 
  2. Never point the muzzle at anything you don’t want dead.  
  3. Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.
  4. Know your target, as well as what’s around it.    



Elenei cleaned her gun on the threadbare towel from behind her Aunt Arya’s bar and thought of those nights, staring up at the glow-in-the dark constellations on her ceiling.  When she closed her eyes, she could almost see her mother’s fiery red mane in the glow of her nightlight and the warm grey-green pools of her father’s eyes as he gazed down at her.  They would hold each other as they said the words in unison with her, as if a prayer.  When all was said and done, she would watch them leave holding hands and then listen through the wall to them recite The Rules all over again to her brother.  Oh yes, the way that Petyr and Sansa Baelish prepared their children for life in this world was quite memorable.


	3. Yes, Doctor!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's pov -- somewhere after part 5

It was odd to be in his office, a desk and chairs replacing the usual bed and stool on wheels.  Though Sansa couldn’t say that she was entirely surprised, as she often got preferential treatment because of her name.  Everyone in the city knew who she and her husband were, and if an exam room weren’t available, it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch that she would be offered a space in a provider’s personal office.  They would probably convince themselves that they just needed to give her a quick once over and throw a prescription her way, and she’d be out in five.  Anything to keep the Baelishes happy.  

She hid her startle when the door opened suddenly and the doctor walked in.  He was an older man, though not _old_.  His hair was graying, though it wasn’t taking over his head, and she didn’t suspect it would for many more years.  He wore scrubs, probably fresh from the O.R. and she couldn’t overlook how well they fit his physique.  A slight bulge of bicep peeked out from under a short sleeve as he flipped through the papers in the manila folder he carried.  She was curious to see his eyes, and was disappointed to find that she wasn’t able to.  He never looked up from his paper as he said, “Mrs. Baelish.”  

She smiled, and straightened in her seat opposite his desk, “Yes.”  

“It says here that your usual doctor is, Dr. Luwin?”  She saw his eyebrow raise, though his eyes never did.  

She leaned forward in her chair a little, hoping the movement would distract him, and make him look up.  “He wasn’t available and I needed to be seen.”  

“So I’ve gathered.”  His voice was impatient as if he had better things to be doing.  He read the pages as he slowly walked around to the other side of his desk.  She was surprised at just how perfectly bitable his ass looked in those scrub pants and was sad to see him turn when he reached his destination.  He offered no expression as he said, “Your social history says that you are thirty-four, married with two children.”  

Sansa nodded, though didn’t respond.  Perhaps he would have to take notice of her, if she didn’t speak.  She understood that this was a last minute appointment, and that she had probably put him out, but where was his bedside manner?  Whether it was because he saw her nod, or he simply didn’t care what her response was, he continued, “I see you’ve had both an emergency cesarian section as well as a natural vaginal birth.  And you’re on hormonal birth control–are you considering having more children?”  

Well that was a bold question!  That was none of his business, and inappropriate of him to ask.  She answered through her teeth, “I don’t know.  It’s something I’d have to discuss with my _husband_.”  

At that he looked up from his file, his eyes showing a twinge of guilt at the impropriety of his question.  Sansa hid her victorious smirk as she thought, _Good.  Feel guilty.  You may be beautiful to look at, but you’re being a prick._

He cleared his throat and got to the point, “It says that you are here for abdominal pain.  Referred by your primary.”  

“Yes.”  She smoothed her hair behind her ears, and offered a gracious smile.  She would be sweet and amenable and he would regret being such a jerk.  “When I described the symptoms, they felt like this was more of a gyno issue.”  

“Yes, I’ve read the symptoms.  Can you describe them again, for me?  Sometimes things are lost in translation, and it’s better to hear from the source.”  He clicked his pen and placed it in the chest pocket of his scrubs as he started shuffling paper around on his desk.  

Sansa felt her neck muscles flex in irritation.  Why wouldn’t this doctor look at her?  He was more concerned with cleaning his damn desk.  She stayed the course, “It’s more of an ache.  And it’s low in my belly.  It comes and goes really, I never know when it’s going to happen again.”  

He continued to move things around on his desk, “The file said that there was some nipple constriction?”  

Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him, trying to will him to look up at her, “Yes.  They suddenly harden in my bra and the slightest movement against them makes me shiver.”  

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her quickly before focusing back on the desk before him.  “Any other symptoms that I should be aware of, Mrs. Baelish?”  

She grinned proudly, _he looked!_  “There’s a tingling sensation,”  Sansa lowered her voice and pointed her finger down towards her lap as she whispered, “ _down there._ ”  

He looked straight ahead at her now, his eyes wide, “Any discharge or wetness?”  

She bit back her smile as she nodded, “Now that you mention it, there is a wetness that comes with it.”  She watched him pull a stethoscope from his desk drawer and roll back in his chair as she said more brazenly, “Often times my panties are so damp, that I have to change them.  Or just take them off and go without until I can get home.”  

He rose from his seat, “And did you have to change them today?”  

She shook her head, “No.”  She paused for a moment, searching his eyes before she confessed, “I had to go without.”  

The slightest of smirks twitched on the side of his mouth and she felt her nipples harden over the effect she had on the beautiful stranger.  She found herself enjoying having to work for his attention.  Her husband was completely and utterly devoted to her and would fall at her feet if she gave an indication that she wanted him to.  This man on the other hand, barely noticed her.  Making him react was quite a fun game, and Sansa did love a sexy game.  She felt excitement bubble inside and she knew she’d touch herself later at the memory of this appointment.  

“I will need to examine you.  I apologize that this is not a proper exam bed, but due to the last minute nature of this appointment, I’m willing to make due if you are.”  He gestured towards his desk and offered another twitch in his cheek that told her he wasn’t as put out by having to make time for her as she thought.  

She raised an eyebrow at him as she asked, “You want me to lay on your desk?”  

He chuckled slightly, “No.  That would be awkward.”  He then took her hand and motioned for her to step closer to the desk as he said, “You may sit.”  

This was entirely unexpected, though looking at the sprinkling of chest hair that poked out from the vee of his scrub shirt, distracted her enough to not notice or care when she was guided to the edge of the desk.  She felt it hit her bottom and watched him put the stethoscope in his ears.  Sansa hopped up, anxiously awaiting the opportunity to bare her breasts to him, if for no other reason than to see if it pulled a response.  

She felt disappointed when he started listening to her heart over her shirt.  Some doctors listened under the shirt, and she had hoped that he would be one of them.  He leaned in, and mint filled her nostrils as he exclaimed in frustration, “This is no good.  I can’t hear a thing.  Would you mind if you unbuttoned your blouse for me?”  

Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise, “Yes, of course.”  

She wasn’t wearing a bra, hadn’t seen the point.  She was sure that she would have to change into a johnny anyway and it was one less article of clothing she would have to bother with.  He gulped in surprise and almost dropped his stethoscope as stared down at her chest.  She raised an eyebrow as she worked to restrain her elation at affecting him so.  He caught her subtle expression and regained his senses, placing the instrument back over her heart as he said, “No panties or bra today, Mrs. Baelish?”

“I didn’t see the point, Doctor.”  She said it lightly and innocently.  Why wouldn’t she?  She wasn’t guilty of lusting after a married women, like some naughty doctors.  

He pulled the stethoscope away from her chest and draped it back over his neck as he observed, “I see that one of your symptoms have returned.”  

She knew he was referring to her nipples.  They had hardened and could cut glass at this point, “Mm, they have.”  

He reached forward, then stopped himself, “Would you like to have a female present?”  

She glared at him in surprise.  What a cheeky question to be asking her right then!  Sansa reminded herself that it was not in fact, indecent to ask, but instead, standard procedure.  “No, I trust you, _Doctor._ ”

He offered her a small smile as he reached forward and rubbed her nipples with his fingertips.  His eyebrows furrowed in his work as he touched them, starting from all directions.  She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but the tingling sensation she felt between her legs grew and she knew a wetness was forming.  It was a wetness that she knew would not be safely contained as she suddenly remembered her lack of underwear.  She squirmed a little at the realization and jumped a little when she suddenly hear his voice ask, “Have your other symptoms returned, as well?”  

“Yes, Doctor.”  She felt a slight blush heat her cheeks at the reality of the situation.  

He let his fingers leave her nipples, and his palms slid down to her belly button, “Is that ‘ache’ here?”  

She shook her head, “No.  Lower.”  

He moved one hand to grip her hip, as he angled his other hand, and brought it down lower, his fingertips just below the band of her skirt.  “How about here?”  

Again, Sansa shook her head.  She felt a million butterflies dance in her stomach as she insisted, “Lower.”

He removed his hands and pulled away from her, standing further back.  Sansa sat on his desk, her shirt open to expose her naked breasts to him, and he moved away from her.  Never had she felt more insulted.  Men didn’t move away from her naked form.  

He grinned, “I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down, “Mrs. Baelish.  So that I may examine you further.”

Sansa held his gaze as she hopped off the desk.  She felt him watch her as she unzipped her skirt and slid it down over her hips and thighs.  As it fell into a circle of fabric around her ankles, she noticed that though his arms hung to either side of him, uninterested, his fingers twitched as if just the opposite.  She smiled and thought, _See something you like, Doc?_

She scooted back on the table, keeping her legs closed.  He would have to ask her to open them.  She held the side of her cheek in her teeth to keep from smiling.  She hadn’t played any sexy games in a while and she was enjoying this too much.  He slowly approached her and hovered his hand over her belly, then in a surprising move, traced her c-section scar and said, “This is good work.  You can barely notice it.  Does it bother you at all?”  

Sansa would have been put off by yet another personal question, if she hadn’t caught him lick his lips as he stared at it.  She smiled back at him, “No.  It would.  But it’s the strangest thing really, I think it turns my husband on.”  

His eyes met hers and she felt a warmth fill her as he replied, “It’s hard not to appreciate the scars a woman wears, when she wears them for you.  Your husband is wise to know that.”  

Sansa felt her mouth dry at the truth of his words and offered a nervous smile.  She wanted to tell him that she was not the only one in her marriage that wore scars for the other person, or to appreciate the devotion behind them.  And then he pulled a glove out of his drawer and she remembered that he was a stranger to her.

His voice was calm and soothing as he explained, “The area that is affected is low enough that I am going to have to do an internal exam.”  

Sansa nodded her head, no stranger to a speculum, much to her distaste.  He bent quickly and opened the bottom drawers on either side of his desk as he instructed, “I’m going to need you to spread your legs for me.  I know that I don’t have stirrups here, but you’re welcome to set your feet on these drawers.”  

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but humored the good doctor, slowly opening up to him, and placing a foot on either drawer.  He took a step forward and said, “I can offer you lubrication, however where one of your symptoms–”  

“Yes, I know.  Just go ahead, Doctor.”  She felt herself growing impatient with this process.  No one looked forward to an internal exam, especially not splayed out on a desk next to a stack of papers.  

He pushed his fingers against her opening and her head shot up at him, surprised.  He looked back at her and answered her unspoken question, “I don’t need to see this issue, but instead feel for it.”

She slowly nodded her head in approval.  She hadn’t had a doctor’s fingers inside her since the last time she was pregnant.  She told herself that she was not a medical professional, who was she to question?  As one finger slid in slowly, she felt herself clenching around it, surprised by the invasion, however announced it was.  He gasped and said, “Mrs. Baelish, your vaginal muscles are flexing right now, just relax.”  

“I’m sorry doctor, I don’t know what’s come over me.”  Sansa felt the blush creep down her chest, still exposed.  “I can’t seem to stop.”  

He nodded, “I was afraid of that.  Involuntary tightening of vaginal walls has been known to happen during my internal exams.  I can offer some light clitoral stimulation to ease the area.  If you would like?”  

She blinked back at him, seeing his eyes light up as he fought to stay professional.   _Did he just ask if he could rub my clit?_  She felt his thumb gently press up into her folds and vertically run the length of her nub, _Holy shit.  He did._  The words caught in her mouth as she nodded back to him, her chest naturally arching forward at his touch.  

He licked his lips again as he replied, “Very well.”  His middle finger met his index to probe her insides, as his thumb slickened their way.  Sansa’s breath caught and her legs widened, unabashed.  His hand worked between her legs as the other reached up to cup her breast.  At the tender feel of his fingertips, Sansa sighed and mewled in response.  

He hardly noticed, so intent on his examination.  He plucked at her nipple as his fingers moved back and forth, in and out.  And then he stopped.  Completely.  Sansa almost got whiplash as she brought her head up.  He smirked at her.   _He fucking smirked_ , she realized.  

He took his glove off and threw it in the trash as he said, “Mrs. Baelish, it’s clear what the problem is here.  You have been without orgasm for far too long and your symptoms will not abate without one.”  

_You’re telling me!_  She fought to control her voice as she glared back at him, “I felt like we were making progress.  Your _exam_ was very helpful.”  

He waved his hand dismissively, “Treatment will require something larger, wider.  An instrument made specifically for the job.”  

“A dick.”  Sansa stared at him, “You’re telling me that I need a dick.”  

He coughed a little in surprise, “Yes.  I am.  Surely your husband can help you.”  

She fumed, “He’s a busy man, and you’re right here, right now.”  

“Mrs. Baelish!  What are you suggesting?”  He exclaimed as if offended by the insinuation.  Though she was sure she caught his cheek twitch.  She remained quiet studying his face and he picked up a notepad and pulled a pen from his pocket, “Look, I’m not stupid.  I know who you are.”  

She rolled her eyes and gestured around the office, “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be getting such preferential treatment.”

He nodded, “I’m flattered that you would want my assistance in the matter.  I am.  But I know what happens to men who touch Littlefinger’s woman.”  

Without restraint she shot back, “Do you know what happens to those who disappoint her?”  

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, “It seems that I am stuck between a rock and a hard place.  I could write you a prescription for a vibrator.”  

Sansa laughed at that, “Really?”  

“I would.”  He nodded, but then looked almost forlorn as he continued, “But I don’t honestly think it would work.  In your particular condition, it’s my professional opinion that you require the texture of flesh.”  

Seeing her way in with the man, she smiled and nodded, “I do.  I definitely do, Doctor.”  

He set his notepad and pen down and slowly approached her.  She stared down at the bulge in his pants and she smirked.  There it was, the chink in his armor.  She reached for his waistband, pulling him forward by it.  He gasped, “Mrs. Baelish!”  

She smiled, “Shh, relax doctor.  My husband doesn’t need to know a thing.”  She cupped his erection through the thin material of his pants and continued, “You can’t hide how much you want to help me.”  

He advanced closer of his own volition, looking down at her, a hunger in his eyes as she rubbed him.  She tugged at the band of his pants and slowly pushed the article of clothing down over the firm rounds of his tight ass as she appealed to him, “Please, Doctor.  Help me.”  

His hand reached down between them and rubbed himself against her entrance.  His other hand gripped her hair as he cradled the back of her head, his eyes fluttering down to her at the feeling of her skin against his.  Sansa felt pride well in her chest as she watched the effect she had on him.  He breathed mint on her as his rubbing got more targeted and he applied a gentle pressure at her opening, “I’m a dead man.”  

She felt herself gush with excitement at his words before she was suddenly impaled by him.  His mouth hovered above hers, and the hand that had been guiding his cock moved to her hip.  He rolled into her slowly, as he tightened his grip on her.  She gasped at how completely he filled her, and the smooth way he moved within her.  She hugged each bump and ridge with her inner walls and was beyond satisfied with her decision to insist on this particular course of treatment.  

He brought his hand back down to her nub and picked up where he left off.  Sansa felt the excitement building inside at the added attention and reached down, grabbing handfuls of his ass.  He took her encouragement and quickened his pace as he drove himself into her.  As she rode the building sensation she moaned, “Fuck me, Dr. Baelish!”  

He nodded his head against hers, his mouth open in his concentration, unable to form words let alone a smile.  She felt his sweat drip down her chest and she dug into his ass harder, adding a sense of urgency to the situation.  She knew he would have better leverage if he let go of her hair and gripped both of her hips, but he wouldn’t.  She knew that only a kiss would make him let go of his hold.  She also knew that she couldn’t kiss him with his shirt on.  Sansa made the rules a long time ago, and he was being a good boy and following them.  

Her hands slid from his ass and grabbed at his shirt, lifting it up as far as she could.  So intent on his work, the doctor almost didn’t notice what she was trying to do.  He smiled through his panting when he realized and let go of her, pausing his motion just long enough to yank the shirt off and throw it aside, divesting himself of the uniform.  He brought his hands back to their places and she smiled as he pumped into her, placing his forehead to hers as he panted against her mouth.  She smiled, seeing the long scar that her husband wore for her, out of the corner of her eye.  

Closing the gap between them, she extended her neck and covered his mouth with hers.  She felt more than heard, his moan into her as her tongue slid past his.  The pulling of her scalp ceased, and the heat of his palm ran down her back to settle on her hip.  She bucked her pelvis forward expectantly at him and his lips tore away to sound his pleasure.  He looked up at the ceiling as she kissed over his jaw and down his throat, gently biting his clavicle.  The sucking and smacking sounds of their joining were a low background chorus to the more prominent sounds of their moans of mutual need.  

Her hands ran over the bumps and divots of his abs, her thumbs softly tracing the scar along the way.  At her sudden squirm and exhale, Petyr’s fingers became more deliberate in their rubbing.  Sansa rested her palms on his pecs, and felt all of her muscles tense in anticipation.  She sucked in air, barely noticing how his hips moved between her legs, as all of her focus zeroed in on the same place Petyr was.  The tingle of her nub had become constant and she felt her chest ache as she waited.  

If she hadn’t been concentrating so intently, she may not have been so surprised when she felt a light peck of a kiss on her lips drawing her back to the warm green pools of her husband’s eyes as he said, “ _Breathe_.”

She had forgotten to.  That was the ache in her chest.  Her body was begging her to live and breathe at the same time she was begging it to die, just a little.  Sansa stared back at the eyes that smiled at her, and she finally exhaled everything that she had been saving and building inside.  She didn’t recognize her voice as she cried out, her hips desperately bucking as her insides spasmed in waves of release around her husband.  The tightening coupled with the complete loss of all control, sent Petyr chasing his own orgasm closely after.  

Sansa felt the warmth ooze inside of her with each meaningful grind, threatening to be the last.  She was left feeling boneless, held together only by his arms around her as he laughed into her neck and placed kisses at random.  After a couple of minutes, she kissed the side of his face and slowly regained her composure.  As he pulled away from her, his hands cupped either side of her face and he said, “So, wife.  How was your doctor’s appointment today?  Anything eventful happen?”  

She felt the dimples form on her cheeks as she replied, “No.  Not really.  But I will need to be seen again, for a follow up.”


	4. What She Tells You To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's pov -- just a quick smutty-fun scene. Could go anywhere in the au. (prompt was Sansa found S&M porn on Petyr's computer lol)

Petyr’s head snapped up, attention caught by the flurry of red hair and piercing blue eyes that suddenly stormed at him.  The loud crack of the door slamming shut behind her, jumped him out of his paralysis, as he acknowledged her, “Sansa!”  

She looked ready to murder as she barked, “Pants off and cock out!”  

He blinked, uncertain for a millisecond.  He was about to open his mouth to question when she tossed her purse to the floor and kicked off her heels as she ordered, “NOW!”

Her determined march toward him sent the blood rushing to his cock as he quickly fought against his belt buckle and zipper.  Wrestling himself out of his pants, he felt a quick flash of pride that he was already rising to such attention for her.  Her face remained impassive as she peeled her underwear off, slipping it out from under her skirt.  Sansa leaned over him, her hair hanging down in his lap as she maintained eye contact.  He reached for her and she pulled her head away, refusing him.  She clucked her teeth at him, admonishing him for trying to touch her.  He furrowed his brow in frustration.  She wanted his cock, yet she was pulling away from his grasp.  What was her game?  Whatever it was, he didn’t dare ask, lest she decide to stop.  His heart pounded in his chest, and he was certain at the head of his dick too.  Anticipation was killing him and he gripped the arms of his chair to avoid making the mistake of reaching for her again.

Slowly, she leaned over again, the smell of her hair hanging in front of his face, hitting his nostrils as she held his gaze.  She gave no indication of what she was about to do, adding to the thrill when she spit directly on his cock and commanded, “Get harder.”  

Petyr broke eye contact to look down at the pool of saliva on his shaft and had already risen his hand, reaching for it before he realized what he was doing.  He glanced back up at her, seeking approval.  Her face set in a hardened expression, refusing to offer any approval or allowance to deviate from her orders.  His thumb landed first, and then his grip was quick to follow, surrounding his cock as he stared back into her eyes.  She told him what she expected and he would not disappoint.  His motion got more deliberate as he asked, “Is this what you want?”  

She hopped up on his desk, offering a wicked grin as she spread her legs for him, “Is this what _you_ want?”

At sight of the bright red thatch that peeked out from the darkness under her skirt, he groaned and worked himself fast, “Fuck, yes.”  

She bit her lip and took both the edge and amusement out of her voice as she instead cooed to him, “Then be a good boy, Petyr.  And do what your wife tells you.”


	5. Give You What You Don't Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's pov -- takes place in between part 4 and part 5. (this generated from a prompt)

“You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn.”  Sansa groaned into her pillow, feeling her husband’s hands roam her body.

It was dark still in their bedroom, with just the softest of light peeking from where the curtain didn’t meet the wall.  She knew it was Petyr hovering over her, a knee on either side of her thighs, because of the smell of his cologne and who else could it be?  She refused to open her eyes and acknowledge his presence, defiantly remaining on her belly.

She heard amusement in his voice as he picked at her oversized shirt, “And you ‘better have a good reason’ for this.”

Defensively she shot back, “I only sleep naked when you’re home.  And you weren’t.”

“You knew where I was.”  His palms moved under her t-shirt, sliding up her back.  He was at the Doghouse, handling some unruly patrons.  It had been at least six years since Clegane owned it, but the name alone was a beacon to the less than desirable clientele of the city.  Sansa had told Petyr to sell it, or change the name, anything to rid themselves of the burden.  Each time, Petyr would refuse, citing sentimental value.  And consequently, each time, Sansa would remind him of how bad sentiment was for business.

It was always at this point in the recurring discussion that Petyr would kiss her and tell her that paying customers were paying customers, and someone had to serve them.  Why not the Baelishes?  Besides, it was easier to keep an eye on potential upstarts this way.  And that’s where Petyr had been, reminding people who needed it, that the Doghouse belonged to the Baelishes.  Sansa would have been turned on by her husband’s show of force if she hadn’t been horribly let down by his absence.  She decided not to answer him, ignoring his advances.  As much as she could, anyway.

After a couple of minutes passed, and she was not melting into his touch, Sansa felt his hands find the waistband of her underwear.  His voice got deeper as he asked, “You never sleep with these.  Whether I’m home or not.”

Sansa refused to speak, knowing the moment she did, she’d lose all her power.  Petyr, ran his fingers under the elastic at her legs, letting his fingers touch bare ass.  When she still didn’t respond, he continued, “Someone’s disappointed.”

“Yes.”  She raised her head off the pillow.

His hand drifted under the material, away from her ass, and down between her legs.  She felt him lean over her, and kiss the back of her head.  Mint filled her nostrils as he explained, “Because tonight was the night and I missed it.”

“Yes.”  In the past, Sansa might have tried to deny it, hating that anybody could read her so well.  However, now, she would have been more angered if he hadn’t known.  The persistent fingers that grazed over her opening, slid between her folds and sought her little bundle of nerves.  She would blame it on reflex if she could, but they both knew the truth.  Sansa lifted her ass for him, letting him achieve his goal, and was thankful for the darkness to hide his smug smile.

He kept straddling her thighs, one hand massaging the top of her ass and the small of her back, while the other rubbed her nub.  She felt her big shirt slide up around her breasts with their motion, and she worked to control all of her sounds of pleasure.  She was unimpressed with him, after all.  Why give him any more than necessary?  As if he read her thoughts, he asked, “But did I miss it?”

“Yes.”  She felt his fingers paint the moisture all around her opening.  Her underwear had originally given her a sense of security, acting as a protective shield against a handsy husbands.  Though now, they were just confining, an annoying barrier covering the area in need of attention.  She rolled her eyes at herself for thinking earlier in the evening that she wouldn’t be in this exact position about now.  Her shirt rucked up more as she moved under him to bring a hand to her side, pushing her panties down.

The hand that was massaging the top of her ass, felt what she was doing and gripped the material, helping her pull it down.  His other hand left her nub, to avoid getting caught up in the material and a rogue moan escaped her at the loss of contact.  She heard a self-satisfied chuckle as he brought his hand back to her, “I didn’t miss anything, Sansa.”

“You have the app.  I showed you the sticks.”  Sansa shot back at him, willfully ignoring the rock-hard cock that had started snuggling against the crevice of her ass.  When did that happen?

His hands massaged her back, thumbs pressed to either side of her spine, as he purred down to her, “Your ass feels so good.”

The velvety flesh felt good against her too.  She took a deep breath, not willing to give in so easily, “I’m not fucking you.”

He brought his lips down, kissing her back as he pushed her shirt over her shoulders, “Yes, you are.”

“Nope.”  Even as she said it, she knew she was wrong.  Her body betrayed her, wiggling under him, looking for more friction.

Petyr rocked his hips, sliding his erection suggestively against her as he spoke into her shoulder, “Why not?”

She offered her last defense, “Because it’s a waste of time.  I’m not ovulating anymore.”

He brought one hand down between then, slipping back between her lips as he said, “All my research says that if you are trying for a boy, it’s important to catch ovulation at the tail end.”

“What?!”  Her face shot up off the pillow at that.  She craned her neck around to look at him, seeing only the side of his face and one of his arms in the morning light.  “Are we trying for a boy specifically?”

“I am.”  He grinned as he pulled back a little, taking himself in hand.

“And what’s wrong with a girl?!”  She felt him nudge her opening, and her eyes fluttered as she tried to ignore the sensation.  “I happen to think our _daughter_ is perfect.”

He chuckled down to her, “I do too.”  The head of his dick became more insistent as he slowly slid into her, “But, I want to give you a boy.”

“Why?”  She gasped, feeling the fullness that only Petyr could give her.  She had only ever wanted a baby to be healthy, not caring about the gender.

His thrusts were slow and deep as he massaged the knots in her shoulders and back.  His voice, as smooth as silk, “Because you don’t have one yet.”

Sansa felt her hardened nipples press into the mattress and couldn’t fight the urge to pick her ass up against each deep thrust in.  She gripped the pillow above her head, losing herself in the pleasure of their intimacy as she asked, “What if it’s another girl?”

She could hear the smile in his voice, “Do you have two girls?”

She bit her lip, “No.”

He leaned forward and gave her a peck against the side of her head before he said, “Well then, I’ll still be giving you what you don’t have.”

She clenched her walls around him, approving.  His sudden uncontrolled moan made her smile into the pillow, and she squeezed him again.  His thrusts became more deliberate as he said, “I want to give you everything.”

Sansa felt her own arousal building, his breath hot on her back, as she sighed, “You make everything better.”


	6. A Bed of Weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenei's pov -- when she's 10 yrs old

“I hate her and I wish she were dead!”  Elenei kicked the dandelion in front of her.  When the head did not break from the stem, only smearing the green cytoplasm across her white dress shoe, Elenei kicked it again and again until it did.  

“That’s quite a thing to wish.”  She knew he’d follow her.  “On a mother.”  She knew he’d sit down on the grassy bank beside her.  “Who loves her daughter so.. _.fiercely._ ”  And she knew he’d take her side.  

She scoffed, “Fiercely?”  

He chuckled.  It was not like the laugh he gave all the people who came to visit, the important people you had to be careful what you said in front of.  It was special.  He only gave this honest expression to family.  She couldn’t help but wonder what was so funny.  She spoke the truth.  Sansa Baelish was not _fierce_ about anything, much too placid for a descriptor like that.  

His voice was patient and she could just rip a hundred dandelions out of the dirt for it.  “Mum always stays calm, doesn’t she?”  

 _Fucking.  Always_.  Elenei knew she wasn’t supposed to say that word, but she was allowed to think it.  And if she wasn’t, well too _fucking_ bad.  Her thoughts were her own.  “She never gets too much of anything.”  

“Oh, princess.”  He held his hand out to her, appealing to be heard.  How funny it was to her that her father only truly felt listened to when he had some point of physical contact with her, be it holding hands or a fatherly hug.

She wasn’t a baby anymore and didn’t need Daddy to hold her close and protect her from the world.  Perhaps he’d forgotten that.  “Don’t, Dad.”

He dropped his hand in resignation.  “Do you know what makes Mum lose her mind?  Do you?”  

Elenei crossed her arms in front of her, feigning disinterest.  

Not buying it, her father answered his own question.  “When you’re mad at her.”  

“Ha!”  Elenei stood just out of reach.  He looked so small sitting down on the ground.  She always knew that her family was not like others, that they did things, not so lawful.  Surely if they loved each other, it didn’t matter if they did bad things, they weren’t exactly bad people.  And good or bad, her dad was important.  She knew it each time people cowered away from him.  She noticed each time they smiled a bit too wide, and didn’t miss when their gifts were too rich.  Petyr Baelish was the most powerful man on the planet and he was sitting in a bed of weeds, getting dirt all over the back of his dress pants, trying to talk to his daughter.

She felt her resistance lessen and plopped down beside him.  When he wrapped an arm around her, she didn’t fuss.  She would be lying to herself if she said that it wasn’t just exactly what she needed.  Dad always felt good, knew just what to do, what to say.  She wondered if he was the same way with Mum or if his talents lay only in fatherhood.  His voice sounded over her head, “You don’t believe me?”  

“No.  I don’t.”  There was no point in lying.  

“What does Mum do when she’s uncomfortable?”  Her looked out to the perfectly manicured lawn before them.  

Elenei laughed, “Kill people.”  

“Before that.”  Her father replied, as if he had expected her response.  

Elenei thought of all the times her mother was upset, “She fidgets with her clothes.”

“And just what did Mum do before you stormed off?”  Her father kissed the top of her head as if he had just given his closing statement to the grand jury and had won the case before the verdict was ever read.  

She would not let him get away that easy and shot back, “Are you saying that Mum was going to kill me?  But I left too quickly?”  

Her father gave her a tired look that appeared anything but amused.  “What I am telling you Miss Elenei Baelish is that your mother is just as upset as you are.  Now, you tell me, why would your mother say something that would upset you, knowing that she would also be hurt?”

“Because she’s Mum.  She doesn’t make sense.  And she doesn’t get hurt.”  Elenei didn’t understand why anyone would choose to be upset, or think for a minute that her mother was anything less than the hardest, toughest person alive.  

Her father chuckled again.  “She does get hurt, Elenei.  She’s a human being.  It happens.  But what’s more important here, is that she really believes in what she is telling you.  And if we are being honest, I agree.”  

“Of course you agree.  You’re my dad.”  Elenei rolled her eyes.  

Her father gave her another quick squeeze before asking, “Why is it acceptable for me to disapprove of something, but not your mother?  You’re not being fair to her.”  

Frustration on top of a sense of betrayal that her father would take her mother’s side, built up and Elenei exclaimed, “It’s just a belly-ring!  Ros has one!”  

“Ros has one for work.  And she’s not ten years old.”  Elenei whipped around when she heard her mother’s voice.  

“It’s not fair.”  Elenei proclaimed.  

Her mother pulled her into an embrace, much against her will.  “I wanted one too when I was younger.  But I never got one.  And when I was older I was glad of it.  When you are older, if you still find you want one, I will drive you there myself.”  

Elenei looked out from under her mother’s arm to see her father raise an eyebrow at her in question.  So Dad was more against this than Mum?  Mum was the one who hopped on the grenade, and Dad was the one who played good cop.  Great manipulation guys.  She knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until they paid a bit for that and thought this the perfect opportunity to cash in on something else she’d wanted done for a bit.  Cuddling into her mother, she inhaled the fresh rain-scented lotion that the woman never went a day without, and smiled, “Okay.  I understand.  If I can’t get a belly-button ring, can I get the second piercing in my earlobes?  I want to wear a stud with a longer earring beside it, just like how Mum does.  I think it’s really pretty.”  

Her father sighed and crossed his arms, disapproving of another hole punched in his daughter.  As if her mother hadn’t noticed his huffing, she brushed Elenei’s hair out of her face and cooed down to her, “Of course.”

Elenei did not miss the look of annoyance that flashed across Dad’s face, nor did she miss the happy sound in her mother’s voice.  Sansa Baelish had managed to do something that made her daughter happy.  Elenei pulled away, hope filling her face as she asked, “Can we go today?”  

“It’s Mother’s Day, Elenei.  Perhaps it could wait until tomorrow?”  Her father insisted.  

Unrelenting, Elenei looked into her mother’s ice-blue eyes, “What better day to spend some mother-daughter time?”  

“Stop.”  It was unexpected and firm.  When Sansa Baelish spoke in that tone, there wasn’t a single person who dared speak against her.  Not even Dad, as far as Elenei was aware anyway.  “I understand you’re working me.  And I let you, because I would see you happy.  But you’re so focused on your goal that you are ignoring all the variables.”  

Her father stood up and rested his arm around her mother, as they were prone to.  “Listen to Mum, she understands the game.”  

Her mother continued to explain, “I put up mild resistance.  At that point, you should have re-evaluated to make sure your goal was worth it.  If it was, you needed to start planning for various counters.  You need to be flexible.”  

He kissed the side of Mum’s face, smiling as he did.  Her father always smiled the widest when he was touching her.  Relishing the affection he showered her with, Mum smiled and continued,  “You, on the other hand, charged ahead.  Don’t be bull-headed, Elenei.  You’ll end up two steps back.”  

“What does that mean?”  She trudged behind them back towards the party, stomping on each dandelion she could find.  

Her father spoke over his shoulder, “It means that you may be waiting a bit for that second piercing.”  

Mum rubbed Dad’s back and smiled at him as she shrugged, “Unless she can manipulate me into it any sooner.”

“Is that a challenge?”  Elenei eyed her.  

“Sounds like it, princess.”  Dad chuckled.   


	7. Snake Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Durran's pov -- Elenei and Durran are all grown up and running things.

“Do you know the best way to kill snakes?”  Durran spoke evenly from behind his glass.  

His oldest, most trusted cousin shook his head.  “No, Durran.  Don’t do it.”  

He continued, ignoring him, “You dig a deep hole in the ground, too deep to crawl out of, and then you toss mice in it.  Watch the snakes slither from all directions, chasing after the smell of the tiny rodent’s fear.”  

Durran set the cup down.  His face, like his mother’s, gave away no emotion.  “When you are satisfied that you have all of your cold-blooded enemies trapped inside, you pour gasoline into the pit, and light a match.”  

His cousin gripped his forearm.  “Stop.  We’ll find a way, together.  Don’t go after them half-cocked like she did.  Look what happened.”  

Durran smiled, “I did.  She took many down in her effort.” 

“And look where she is now.”  His cousin ran his cracked and weathered hands through his scraggly brown mop, sweat forming on his brow.  “We do not have the forces for this.  We need to let it go.  Just for right now, until we can regroup.”

 _“It?_  Let _it_ go?!  She’s my sister!  You want me to let _her_ go.”  Both his eyes and the veins in his neck bulged out in the pressure of his rage.  He’d worked so hard to be controlled, to follow in his father’s calculated footsteps.  The man with the plan.  But, his sister was gone, and emotion was ruling him.  “I will have her returned home or I will have a fire to roast marshmallows over.”

“It’s Elenei we’re talking about, she’s probably given them the slip by now anyway.”  His cousin tried his best to speak reason, to leash the rabid dog Durran was becoming.

The young Baelish glared at his right hand man, “I will not chance her life on ‘probably.’  We set the trap tonight.”


	8. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's pov -- Takes place in between parts 3 and 4 of the Baelishes and not long after chapter 5 of Wolfswood Tavern. It's Petyr and Sansa's honeymoon...of sorts lol. (this generated from a prompt...that I may have ran with a bit lol)

“You better have a good reason for waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn.”  Arya groaned through the phone.  

“Shit, sorry!  I forgot what time it was there.”  Sansa apologized through the phone.  

_What time it was there?_  Arya sat up quickly, “Wait, what?  Where are you?  And why are you whispering?”  

Sansa giggled into the phone, “I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Petyr?”  Arya didn’t know why she was asking, of course she would mean Petyr. 

Except that she didn’t, “No, you don’t know him.”

Arya’s eyes widened in surprise and she threw the covers back, setting her feet on the cold floor. If Sansa was calling her this early in the morning, trying not to wake up strange man, she was most definitely in trouble.  Even if she didn’t seem to know it.  Truth be told, Arya never thought Sansa would step out on Petyr, but things did not sound good.  Fuck. Petyr.  “Sansa, where is Petyr right now?”  

“Don’t know.”  Her answer was automatic and matter-of-fact as if it was the most normal thing on the planet to not know where her husband was.

Arya put the phone in the crook of her neck as she searched the floor for the pants she’d worn the day before.  She was pulling them up to her knees when she said, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Sansa sighed, “I mean, I don’t know, Arya.  I got up to pee and he was gone.”  

What?  He deserted her?  No.  Not Baelish.  He wouldn’t do that.  Not to Sansa.  Not after everything they’d been through.  Arya hadn’t known the man long, but in the short time she had, she was certain he would rather die than be separated from her sister.  Arya slid her feet into her boots and grabbed her wallet and keys off the counter, heading for the door as she asked, “Where the fuck are you, Sans?”  

Sansa started laughed uncontrollably, “Bra—hehe—Brav—haha—Braavos.”

“Braavos!”  Arya stopped dead in front of the door to her apartment.  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sansa erupted into a giggle fit on the phone.  She regained her composure only slightly as she answered, “Nope.  All because I was wearing a short skirt.”  

“What?  Sans, you’re off your head.  You’re not making any sense.”  Arya pinned the phone against her shoulder again, pulling her wallet out. She flipped through to make sure the good credit card was still in there.  She wouldn’t be buying a plane ticket with the sixty cash she had in her wallet.  “Did someone give you something?”  

“Yes!”  Sansa exclaimed and then instantly shushed herself, quietly giggling.  “The nice man gave me this pill that made me really horny.”  

Arya’s heart began to race, as her brain started shuffling through the many possible substances some crazy asshole may have drugged her sister with.  She flew out of her apartment, running down the hallway, rounding the corner to start running down the stairs.  She all but barked her orders into the phone, “Get in the bathroom and lock the door.  Then text me Varys’ number.”

“What?  Why?”  Sansa’s confusion teetered on irritation.  

Arya chose to hop over the last two steps.  “So I can have him GPS your phone.  I’m coming to get you.”  

“What?  Don’t do that.  I’m having too much fun.”  Sansa sighed happily as she added, “And Petyr likes it here, too.  He’s a lot freer here.”  Her voice dropped as she added with a smirk, “ _Naughtier.”_

What the hell?  Arya stopped in front of her bike, “Sansa, how did you get to Braavos?”  

“Petyr.  We were at the club and you know he’s only now going back to work, right?  Until recently, he usually just worked from home, being a grumpy-grump because we weren’t screwing.”  Sansa’s speech was rapid as she explained both the relevant with the irrelevant, “Which, to be fair, I get grumpy too.  Sansa needs dick, Arya, it’s true.  ANYWAY!”  She cringed over the phone, “Whoops, that was too loud, sorry.”  

She continued at a whisper, “So he’s back at the club and I wanted to look nice for him, right? Well, wrong.  He’s all like, ‘Your skirt’s riding up.’  So I’m all like, ‘No, the skirt is supposed to be this short.’ And he just rolls his eyes and smiles at me.  I’m like, ‘What the fuck is that?’  Then I get all mad and tell him that he’s gotten boring being all grumpy and he has no sense of adventure anymore.”  

Sansa paused long enough to take another breath before she began explaining at the speed of light again, “I said it nicer than how I’m saying it now, but I still said it, Arya. I swear, I did.  And so he gets that look that he gets when he’s either going to tear my clothes off me or shoot something, and the next thing I know I’m getting eaten out on a plane headed for Braavos.”

Arya stood by her bike, taking it all in, feeling ready to shoot something herself.  Sansa was the responsible one.  She was not supposed to be the one stone-calling her sister from another fucking country.  Arya could kill her for inciting such a panic, for what?  Nothing.  Just a married couple keeping things alive.  Wait a minute.  Where did the strange guy come into play?  “Sans, who’s the guy?”  

“Oh, don’t really know him all that well.  He’s a friend of Petyr’s.  We told him we were in town and he brought the drugs.  And his wife.  She’s gorgeous by the way.  They have an open marriage, and offered to come back with us.”  Sansa’s words had slowed, not as emotionally invested in this part of her tale.  

“And Baelish—sorry, Petyr, let them come back?”  Arya couldn’t help but feel curious.  The man she knew always had his eyes and hands on Sansa, staring down anyone else that came near her.  His possessiveness was well established and without question, until now.  The idea popped in her head and she couldn’t resist, smirking as she asked, “Are you guys _swingers?_ ”  

“Oh my god, Arya, no. Petyr would blow a gasket.”  Sansa explained, “He invited them and some girls back, _for them_.  And after we all took our _medicine,_ Petyr started doing that thing he does with my ear and drug me to the bedroom. Which, I could just talk your ear off about all the naughty things he does when we’re alone.”  Sansa burst out in laughter again.  

“Don’t.”  Arya didn’t care to hear Sansa’s inebriated over-sharing.  She didn’t really care to hear any of this.  It was too early in the morning for phone calls like this at all, let alone from her sister.  She pulled a pack of cigarettes out and began smacking them on the palm of her hand, unwrapping it and cramming the plastic back in her pocket after.  Now that she knew she wasn’t in any danger, Arya figured she’d get to the point, “If everything’s okay, why are you calling?”

“I wanted to say thank you.” Sansa’s tone got serious and Arya wondered how her buzz disappeared so quickly.  

Arya brought the cigarette to her lips and started patting herself down, searching her for her lighter. “For?”  

“I know Petyr came to you at Wolfswood.”  All the amusement had faded away to sincerity as she added, “I know that whatever you two talked about, he’s been different ever since.  More confident.  More like his old self.  Not an invalid any longer.”  

Arya lit her cigarette and took a long drag as she realized how Sansa was sounding more and more like him every day.  She knew what conversation her sister was referring to, too.  

Petyr had been on the tail end of his recovery from their wedding massacre and Sansa was being her overbearing self.  He came to Arya looking for support in getting Sansa to pull her head out of her ass, and Arya felt for him, seeing how hard he tried for her sister.  So, she threw the guy a bone, and pushed all the necessary buttons to get Sansa to be more reasonable for him.  After that, they all celebrated Christmas together as one big happy family.  Perhaps Baelish had changed, being stuck in bed for months trying to keep his insides on the inside, would definitely change a man’s outlook.  Though somehow, Sansa was attributing his change to Arya.

Arya took another drag off her cigarette and figured she could use the brownie points so she just answered, “You’re welcome.”  

She heard a distant voice in the background say, “You shouldn’t be out here without me, Oberyn’ll think you’re interested in joining them.”  

Sansa smiled through the phone, “They’re all sleeping.  Where have you been?”  

“Getting you coffee.” Arya recognized Petyr’s voice getting closer to the phone, “And more of this.”  

Arya brought her cigarette back up to her lips, accepting that she was now chopped liver, and slightly wondering what “this” was.  Sansa sighed, “But we like pomegranate.”  

His voice sounded huskier as he said, “I know.  They didn’t have any.  And you like strawberries too.”

“Did you try it?” Sansa asked.

Arya left the cigarette in her mouth as she bent down, tying her shoelaces.  She wondered if she should just hang up, but decided to wait for Petyr to realize she was on the phone.  She listened to his voice ask, “There’s no point.  It won’t taste the same as when I lick it off of you.”

Arya’s jaw dropped, the lit cigarette falling from her mouth and onto her shirt, burning a hole in it. She moved quickly smacking at the embers, “Jesus fuck!”  

“What?  What’s wrong?”  Sansa’s voice sounded concerned over the phone, finally remembering that she was on the phone with someone.  Petyr, in the background asked, “Who’s that?”  

“Arya,” Sansa answered. “She sounds like something’s wrong.”

Arya sighed at the hole through her shirt and she answered, “No.  I’m fine. I just dropped my cigarette on my shirt.”  

“Again?”  Sansa sounded mildly annoyed as she added, “This is why you don’t ever have any shirts to wear.”

Seriously?  She was chastising her right now?  Sansa was the one who left the country on a whim, hooked up with some swingers, got high and called her little sister at an ungodly hour to thank her for something that happened a month ago.  Arya scowled into the phone, “I get that you are living it up in some weird vaykay, honeymoon catch up thing, but why don’t you save the calls for when you get home and you’ve got your head screwed on.”  

“Good idea.”  It was Petyr’s voice.  “Apologies, Arya.  We’ll have to connect when we get back.”  

“Sounds good.”  Arya hung up before she said something she may regret.  

She looked around her, seeing the warm yellow light of the early morning.  Arya couldn’t remember the last time she was up this early, dressed and already at her bike. She thought to herself, _Fuck it.  Might as well grab breakfast._

 

 


	9. Too Big For This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenei's pov -- she's about 10yrs old here (this generated from a prompt)

BANG!  The sound of the gun firing resonated in Petyr’s ears, offering its own music simply in the impression it left.  He glanced over at Sansa, her eyes closed, enjoying the same serenade.  There was no annoying screaming or tires screeching to ruin the effect that a pistol had on ones ear drums.  This was not their usual venue: not a dark back alleyway, abandoned warehouse, or a deserted dirt road.  There was no body to stand over this time, or blood to wipe off.  

The sun was shining, and the smell of the fresh cut grass was quite the contrast from the air conditioned strip club that held all the smells of the people in it.  She had gone through every bullet they had and was hitting the target, dead on. Sansa smiled back at him, sharing his pride.  The small hands worked the gun, tearing it down.  She fit the pieces back in the box and pulled her headphones off.  “Ready to go?”

Petyr reached forward, picking his daughter up and hugging her to him, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.  I’m so proud.”  

Elenei rolled her eyes, “Dad!  I’m too big for this.  Put me down.”

“Not a chance, Princess.”  He held her tighter and kissed her cheek, as he looked over at Sansa.  She beamed back at him.  

“Mum!”  Elenei appealed to her, “Tell him it’s not a big deal.  He can put me down.”  

Sansa reached over and tickled her ribs so that she would squirm uncontrollably.  Unable to keep his grip, Petyr let her go, sliding to her feet.  Elenei looked back at Sansaa and laughed, “Thanks!”  

Petyr gathered their things and proceeded to walk them back towards the car.  It would be time to pick Durran up from school soon, and he wouldn’t make the boy wait again.  Petyr’s son caught in  the grips of boredom was the surest way to incite trouble.  Sansa wrapped an arm around her daughter and added, “Just so you know, it is a big deal.”  

“Huh?”  Elenei looked up, pulling her hair behind her ears.  

Sansa leaned down, giving her a kiss on the forehead.  “Your aim is getting better.  That’s important.”

Petyr nodded, “If you have nothing else, you have your skills. No one can ever take those from you.”    

 

 


	10. Because I Wanted Him Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's pov -- could honestly happen at any time in their marriage (generated from a prompt)

“I came here to explain what happened.”  Sansa held her palms up, in surrender.  She took a step backwards, shutting the door behind her with her back, “And I’m not leaving until you listen.”

When Petyr heard the door latch, he glanced up, finally acknowledging her presence.  He didn’t let his gaze linger on her body as he had a thousand times before, denying himself the pleasure.  He would only resent himself for such weakness if he did.  Resolving to show only strength and resilience, he spoke down into the stack of papers on his desk, “I know what happened.”

Her voice was firm as she shook her head at him, “No, you really don’t.”  

He scoffed, “If anyone knows, it’s me.”

She slipped out of her heels before padding across the hardwood floor of her husband’s office.  Somehow being barefoot staked a deeper claim, showed him how settled she was on not going anywhere.  Halfway to him she asked, “Oh?”  She knew he would want to tell her what he thought.  Sure he may have stormed away, told her not to follow, but he loved to be clever.  Petyr Baelish relished the chance to teach his young wife something he knew and she would use that to her advantage.  “Tell me?”

He turned in his chair, opening his legs towards her as he gestured at her dismissively, “You wanted a younger model.  Finally tired of the wrinkles and grey hair.”  

“Am I?”  She stood between his legs and cocked an eyebrow at him.  

She knew that being in this close proximity would force his need for her.  It was one thing to push her away when she was already on the other side of the room, but here standing so close, feeling her thighs rub against the insides of his knees, was different.  She bit back a smile as his hand found her hip, smoothing her dress over it.  “It appears so.”

“Does it?”  Sansa leaned over him, letting her palms rest on his thighs as she brought her face to hover over his.  

Petyr blinked back at her, “Why else would you flirt with him?”  

Sansa tickled her lips over his as she said, “Because I didn’t like him and I wanted him gone.”  

“Oh?”  His curious expression mirrored hers from before.  

She knelt down, narrowly avoiding any kiss he might have caught her in, as she began removing his belt.  “He was loud and stupid and needed to be weeded out.  But one would because he wasn’t a big enough problem.  Not even you, Mr. ‘he’s not part of the plan.’”

Petyr’s eyes softened, as he looked down at his wife, remembering the conversation she was referencing.  She was right, she had been direct in her request, and it had gotten her nowhere.  He listened to the steady pop of his zipper separating and reached his hand down, to cup her cheek as he realized, “So you motivated me to get rid of him.”

Sansa nodded proudly, “And now he’s dead.”  

His look of amusement quickly turned to lust as he watched her pull his rapidly growing cock out, and lick her lips before she wrapped them around him.  His eyes shut tight as he sucked in air through his sudden exclamation.  He controlled his breathing, slowly opening his eyes to watch the puddle of red hair bob up and down in his lap.  Unable to keep his hands away, he stroked her head, occasionally gripping.  When her mouth tired, she brought her hand to him as she smiled, “Do you still think I want someone younger?”  

Petyr smirked, “No.”  

“Really?  Because you said something about wrinkles.”  She teased him once more before she brought her mouth back to him.  

He tucked her hair back behind her ear, offering a better view of where her lips and his cock met as he admitted, “I made a mistake.”  

 

 


	11. Professor Baelish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa pov -- takes place between parts 4 and 5, before baby Durran is conceived. (generated from a prompt)

“My parents asked about you.” She played with the hem of her skirt, avoiding his gaze.  

“Did they?”  She heard the amusement in his voice.  He left his chair, walking around to the front of his desk and reclined back against it as he asked, “And what did you tell them, Sansa?”

She adjusted in her seat, squirming in excitement over his change in position.  She picked at one of her pigtails, reminding him that they were there.  When she glanced up at him, the smug look on his face made her tingle and gush.  “I told them,” her heart raced as she watched him cross his arms over his chest, better showing the muscle of his biceps, “that you were very concerned about my studies, Mr. Baelish.”  

He flashed his dimples at the ceiling as he exhaled, controlling himself as he corrected, “That’s _Professor_ Baelish.”

Sansa bit her lip, suddenly feeling her bra tight against her nipples.  She offered him and innocent look as she apologized, “I’m so sorry, Professor Baelish.  Please don’t suspend me, my parents would be so disappointed.”  

Petyr uncrossed his arms, gripping the desk behind him as he spoke through his smile, “I could never suspend you, Sansa.”

“You couldn’t?”  She cocked her head to the side, letting one pigtail lift while the other rest on her breast.  

He shook his head slowly, without breaking eye contact.  The side of his mouth twitched into a smile before he explained, “I can’t see you if you aren’t at school.”

Sansa giggled and uncrossed her legs in the chair, “And what would you like to see, Professor Baelish?”

“ _Everything_.”  He breathed.

Sansa smiled, and slowly unbuttoned her school uniform, showing him more and more of her cleavage. She pulled both sides of the shirt open, exposing her midriff as well as the pushup bra she bought especially for this moment and felt and excited jump in her belly at his hungry gaze.  She watched his hand press against his erection when she leaned back in the chair, and slowly began raising her pleated skirt for him.

“MUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!” Elenei’s voice sounded at the top of her lungs, her small fists smacking against the locked door.  

“Fuck!  I thought you said she was watching a movie?”  Petyr gripped his cock through his pants.  

Sansa jumped out of her chair, “She was!”  Her hands started working her buttons, as she smoothed her skirt down.  Sansa was already walking to the door when she called out, “What’s wrong, baby?”  

“I spilled my juice!” Their daughter’s tiny voice had grown loud, admitting what was wrong.  And then it got quieter as she spoke through the door, “On the carpet…”

“Fuck!”  Sansa cursed, reaching for the lock on the door.  “Don’t touch anything!”  

“Sansa!”  Petyr stopped her, hand still on his package.  

She whirled around, her pigtails catching up to her, “What?”  

“Just tell me, which panties are you wearing?”  Both his question and the sinful grin on his face told her he’d be making a quick trip to the bathroom before he joined the family again.  

She smiled, “None.”  

“Aww!”  His thumb stroked the outside of his pants and his grin widened in excitement.  “You wanted a spanking today?”  

Sansa giggled and nodded her head up and down as she started turning the doorknob.  

“No!  Don’t leave.”  He took a step forward, holding his hand out to stop her.  

She shook her head, “I gotta go, Petyr.”  

“Muuuuuuuuummmmmmmm!” Elenei’s desire to get cleaned up was nothing if not persistent.  

“Real quick.”  Lead by his smile, he took another step forward. “Show me?”  

Sansa rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning back for the door.  And then she sighed, “Fine!”  Before he could register her resignation, she lifted the back of her skirt, showing him her bare ass.  The ass that she had dressed in a school uniform and wanted spanked.  She snickered to herself when she heard him gasp, “ _Fuck_.”

Before he could make another sound, she dropped the skirt and flung the door open.  Their daughter stood in the doorway, covered in purple from grape juice.  She held the now empty cup up and smiled, “Daddy has pee.”  

“What?  Why?”  Sansa furrowed her brow, and shook her head, not understanding.  

Elenei pointed past her, “He’s holdin' his pee-pee.”  

Sansa heard him sigh behind her and she bit back a grin as she agreed, “Then he must.”  She looked back over her shoulder at her husband standing awkwardly in the center of the room, and added, “He should really go to the bathroom and take care of his business then, shouldn’t he.”  

“Goddamn it.”  Petyr groaned as he turned towards their bathroom.

Elenei reached up, touching one of Sansa’s pigtails, “Pretty hair.  Do mine too?”

“Sure, let’s get you all cleaned up first.”  Sansa scooted her along, lamenting over yet another lost opportunity to feel her husband hot between her legs.  She reminded herself that there was always after bedtime.  

 

 


	12. Fifty-Fifty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's pov -- takes place a few months before part 5 starts (also generated from a prompt that I ran with a bit...)

Sansa paced back and forth in front of her sister.  Arya refused to be affected, focusing on getting as much dip on a chip as she possibly could before it snapped under the weight of it.  Her hair hung around her face, shielding her from having to see Petyr’s scrutinizing look.  

He may not have been pacing, or talking, but he was grilling her all the same.  Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, “Which one was it?!”  

Arya shrugged, attempting to act nonchalant.  Sansa’s eyes furrowed, “Did you just shrug?  Seriously?  Right now, in my kitchen.  After what you just told me?  You’re saying, you don’t know which one?”

“Yes, Sansa.  Dig out your ears, cause that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”  Arya had grown tired of feeling embarrassed and vulnerable.  Being a victim was never her strong suit anyway.  She glanced back over at Petyr, still staring at her, analyzing her.

Elenei walked in the kitchen and froze at sight of all the grownups paused mid-conversation, staring back at her.  Sansa broke the silence, “What is it, baby?”  

“I wanted to see auntie aerie…”  She took a couple of short steps into the kitchen.  

Arya turned in her chair, plastering a big grin on her face, “Aww, kiddo.  Sit with me.”  

“You’ve got chips!” Elenei exclaimed as she grabbed a handful and started munching on them in Arya’s lap.  

Clearly frustrated that their conversation was paused, Sansa bawled up her fists and growled, “I could just–”  She paused trying to find a word Elenei wouldn’t know yet, “ _strangle_ you.”

Arya grinned, “If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”  

The tiny voice from her lap said, “You’re not supposed to say ass.”  

“ _Elenei.”_  Petyr’s tone was one of warning.  

Elenei shrugged in Arya’s lap and then turned to Arya with a mouth full of chips, “Our fish died, and it didn’t turn into a ghost.”  

“What?”  Sansa asked, confused at how the conversation had derailed.

Petyr spoke up, “I know you want to see auntie, Princess.  But Mummy and Daddy need to finish chatting with her first.”  

“Aww, come on!”  Elenei balked from Aryas lap.  

“Yeah!”  Arya started to protest, but stopped when she saw Petyr’s eye raise at her.  Sansa stood beside her husband, offering the same warning glare.  Arya looked down at Elenei, “Best listen to the rents for now, kiddo.”  

Elenei looked up at her, completely betrayed, “You too?!”

“Not by choice.  Trust me.”  Arya sighed as the little one hopped down and stomped off.

Sansa cuddled into Petyr, and kissed his cheek, “Can I see your phone?”

Petyr dug it out of his pocket, and handed it to her.  Arya noted the lack of hesitation in doing so.  Lots of men started sweating buckets when their women asked to see their phones, instead Petyr used the opportunity to pull her in closer to him.  His grip on her waist was high and Arya didn’t know who he thought he was fooling, but everyone could see him grazing the underside of Sansa’s breast with his thumb.  The man was not as subtle as he would have the world believe.  

Arya saw the glint in her sister’s eye as she looked on the screen and quietly giggled, “You said it wasn’t on.”

His hand slid down, grabbing a quick handful of Sansa’s ass as he grinned in her ear, “’The whole time.’ I never said it wasn’t on at all.”

Sansa grinned, snuggling even further into him as she played with his phone.  Unable to bear it anymore, Arya cleared her throat.  The Baelishes looked up, giving her their full attention.  Arya scowled at them, “Is this why you sent kiddo out?  Cause if so, can you send me out too?”  

“Ha-ha.”  Sansa rolled her eyes, and Petyr maintained his hold on her, offering Arya a smug smile.  

“Then what do you want to say to me?  Seriously. Just say it.”  Arya rose from the barstool at the counter and adjusted her pants.

Sansa pushed something on Petyr’s phone and brought it to her ear.  She wasted no time on greetings, going straight for the purpose of her call, “You got her pregnant?! What were you thinking?”

Fuck.  Sansa was either on the phone with Gendry or Bronn.  Petyr shook his head and kissed Sansa’s cheek as she kept talking, “No.  Don’t you ‘Golden Snatch’ me!  She is by baby sister and she’s knocked up!  By someone twice her age–”

“Hey now.”  Petyr tugged her close, furrowing his brow at her.

She shook her head at him and kissed his cheek before she turned back into the phone, “Who lives on a boat!”  

“Sometimes.”  Arya felt it only right that the facts be straight.

“ _Sometimes_.”  Sansa corrected the statement begrudgingly.  She then added, “Who _disposes_ of things for people for a living!”  

Arya didn’t understand why Sansa was so upset over the possibility that she may be carrying a hitman’s child. Sansa and Petyr both had their own death tolls, at least Bronn was honest about killing as a career.  Hey, why was Sansa zeroing in on Bronn anyway? “Sans, why do you think it’s him?”

Sansa scowled, “Because if it were Gendry, you’d have no problem bringing him by to deliver the news.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong. But Arya wouldn’t admit to her being entirely right either, “Give me the phone.”  

Sansa handed it over and then turned into Petyr, shaking her head and whispering, “Obviously, I didn’t mean anything by it.”  

Bronn’s raspy voice sounded through the phone, “So, am I a dad?”  

“Probably.”  Arya admitted, “You bang a lot of chicks. Odds are high.”  

He laughed, “Funny. What are the odds that the bun in your oven is mine?”  

“Fifty-fifty.”  Arya confessed.  

“What does welder-man say about it?”  Bronn’s voice sounded light, but Arya knew better.  

She watched as Petyr wrapped his arms around Sansa and kissed her deeply.  Arya admired how long they had been together, still kissing like that. She sighed, “He says he doesn’t care whose kid it is.  It’s mine.”

“He do a runner on you?” Bronn’s tone deepened.  

Arya shook her head, “No. Opposite.”  

“Wedding bells?”  Bronn laughed.  

“I’m not the marrying type.” Arya growled.  

Sansa’s head snapped up to attention, “Marrying type?  Who’s getting married?  You’re getting married?!”  

“Sansa.”  Petyr gripped her cheek and pulled her attention back to him. “She will be alright.  Let’s give her some space to talk about things.”  

Arya would have thought he was being considerate of what she was going through, but again she knew better. He was looking for an excuse to drag Sansa away, probably to the bedroom.  Anyone could see the lust in his eyes reserved for the older Stark sister.

Bronn smiled through the phone, “Well, whatever happens, call me.  I’d still very much like to see you, Punky.”  

“Yeah?”  Arya was surprised at how well he was taking his possible paternity.  

Sansa shook her head, “No. I’m staying.”  

Arya felt confused for a moment, thinking that Sansa was answering one person when really she was answering another.  Lost in the conversation she simply said, “Okay.”  

“Damn straight.”  Sansa nodded her head.  

“Okay then.  I’ll be in town Tuesday next week.  We can have dinner, and a little of each other.” Bronn chuckled through the phone before he hung up.

“You really don’t know whose baby it is, do you?”  Sansa sighed, taking the phone back to give to Petyr.  

He was about to put it back in his pocket when he stopped.  He looked up at her, a devilish grin on his face, “So the odds are fifty-fifty?”

“Yes, why?”  Arya shrugged.  

“No reason.”  Petyr snickered and started punching buttons on his phone.  

All of a sudden a group text sent to all the Starks flashed across Arya’s screen.  Seeing as how Sansa suddenly reached for her phone, Arya could only imagine that she was getting it just then too.  “Currently taking bets on baby’s paternity.  Odds are fifty-fifty.”  

Sansa slid a twenty dollar bill in his pocket, “My money is on Bronn.”  

“How about you Arya, which way are you going to bet?”  Petyr cocked an eyebrow at her.

Arya started to think about it.  She thought about the encounters she’d had with the two men, struggling still to determine who it may be.  Finally she realized what he was doing, and she exclaimed, “Fuck you, Petyr!”

He broke out into a devilish grin and said, “Seriously though, congratulations.”  

 

 


	13. House Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Durran's pov -- he's a teenager, so this takes place waaaaay after part 5 and part 1.

The house was his, for once.  All seven thousand, six hundred, and forty seven square feet.  It didn’t sound like all that much compared to the mansions in the country, but their estate was quite large for its location, still deep enough within the city.  His father would have it no other way and his mother didn’t care enough about the subject to insist otherwise, though he knew that should she appear the slightest inclined otherwise, his father would pack up and move to her liking overnight.  The acreage surrounding it was unheard of, and helped to make the place feel further away from the hustle and bustle than it truly was.  It was just an illusion, but that didn’t matter.  Durran loved it because it struck the perfect balance between city life and “get the fuck out of my face” time.  At seventeen years old, there was quite a lot of that. 

As he lounged on the couch, his body fully relaxed from the alcohol that coursed through his system.  There was so much movement and noise around him that anyone else may have felt energized by it, whereas Durran felt the opposite sinking into the comfort of the chaos.  He barely heard his cousin Gunar sitting next to him, talking in his ear about something he’d surely be interested in if he wasn’t otherwise occupied, watching a tasty blonde in a small bikini climb out of the pool, her suit wet and clinging to her.  

He would shift in his seat to adjust his growing erection, but he didn’t want to upset Nolla.  He had just trained the husky-malamute hybrid to remain calm with loud music and even louder people, and was pleased that she laid at rest on the other side of him, holding her head in his lap.  She was not a wolf as the Starks his mother was descended from, were once known to keep, but she was the closest to one that his parents would allow.  He knew of his mother’s traumatic history with them, but was determined to prove to her that Nolla was not the same as the wild wolves of her childhood.  Nolla was trained, domesticated, loyal.  She would die for him.  There were times he wondered if he would also die for her, feeling so connected to the creature.

He let his hand mindlessly pet her furry head, scratching behind her ears as Gunar talked.  His cousin wasn’t a huge talker overall, but when he did, it was usually just to him.  Durran wasn’t sure if he should attribute that to their common interests or a bond shared that only children who grow up playing, bathing, and sleeping together do.  Their mothers were close, when his was around, and Durran felt as at home in his aunt’s battered bar filled with bikers and the world’s rejects as he did in the marble polished home his father and mother raised him in.  

Out of everyone, Durran listened to Gunar the most, though as he watched the blonde bend over and reach for her towel through the glass, he could hear not even him.  Durran took another sip from his glass, and considered fucking her later, should optimal conditions arise.  His eyes flashed over to the table across the room, and he scowled at the girl with sleek jet black hair, laying flat on her back.  Her smile was infectious and in private family moments, he secretly adored it, though in public settings he felt annoyed by it.  Why was she so goddamned happy?

Nothing was a greater cock-block than an older sister.  This was his party, he’d commandeered the house for his own uses.  He hated that she was there, intruding.  Elenei was twenty-one, didn’t she have her own friends?  

Durran’s teeth ground as he watched a hand come down on his sister’s thigh.  The hand was attached to the latest loser she was dating.  She had the worst taste in men.  Honestly, he didn’t really care, except that he hated having to play cordial whenever she brought one around.  He could tell that Dad hated it too, though no one would ever know to look at him.  Petyr Baelish was legendary at keeping his poker face firmly in place.  To his mother’s credit, Sansa Baelish had mastered one as well.  Though usually, she just smiled knowingly whenever Elenei brought another dumbass home, and would whisper to them both that it was just a phase every girl went through.  She would run her hand over his father’s back and tell him to just let her get it all out of her system.  

Did she have to “get it out of her system” here?  Durran mulled over the fact that it was  _ his  _ party, after all.  Even if he didn’t really like people, except of course for Gunar, it was still a party.  He glanced to his cousin and smiled as if following what he was saying.  He didn’t mean to ignore him, especially since he was probably the only person on the planet he could stand for extended periods of time.  It was just difficult paying attention with the alcohol slipping around his veins, coaxing a loosening of the limbs and a lack of devoted attention.  Durran reminded himself that Gunar was the only person who seemed to understand him.  He didn’t chastise him for his silences, either.  Durran was never much of a talker, saying only what he felt needed to be said.  

There was just so much going on, the music pumping, the people bouncing and moving, the sounds of men laughing and posturing, and women giggling and flirting.  Every now and then someone would come over and try to talk to him.  He’d smile and keep his hand on Nolla, who would either remain still or lift her head and offer a low growl at them.  She was an excellent judge of character.  Durran often flanked himself with Gunar and Nolla, ensuring that he was completely unapproachable and safe from anyone daring enough to try to sit with him.  

He was vaguely aware of a female presence next to him and glanced over, noticing his movements were quite slowed now.  A mop of wavy brown-black hair hung over Gunar’s head and a set of tanned hands splayed across his cousin’s chest, one reaching down his belly.  Durran took another sip from his glass as he watched Arianne’s hand travel over Gunar’s belt.  He would have rolled his eyes when he saw Gunar lift his hips when she found his package, giving it a squeeze, if he didn’t think his eyes would keep moving back on him.  

She broke from the kiss, laughing as she looked down at her target.  Gunar kept his head thrown against the back of the couch, looking up at her, silently begging her for more.  She laughed again and moved away from him.  Gunar reached his hand up, “Babe?”  

Arianne came around and plopped herself down in his lap before scanning Durran up and down with a smile.  She was a Martell girl, they were known to be more adventurous.  Judging by the look Gunar shot him, Durran knew that his cousin was not.  She giggled and moaned as Gunar leaned in, kissing and licking her neck as his hands held her in his lap.  Durran would be uncomfortable with foreplay that didn’t involve him at such a close proximity, if it were anyone but Gunar.  The man got a free pass, because out of all of Durran’s cousins, he was the best.  

Gunar was just a year younger than Durran and the oldest out of all of his cousins from Auntie R.  He was more chill, and got things that other people didn’t.  Strangely, he didn’t look much like his siblings, way more lithe than their bulky frames.  His aunt was not a big lady, quite petite in fact, despite her efforts by beefing up her muscles.  Her husband, on the other hand, was broad and solid, like the bull he had tattooed to his bicep.  It was a wonder she was able to birth all of his kids.  Even the smallest was a little tank, charging at his brothers and sisters and knocking them down when he was mad.  Gunar on the other hand, looked so out of place.  Perhaps that’s why he didn’t mind Durran’s more reserved demeanor.  It was probably a breath of fresh air compared to being at home with all the loud bangiing and crashing that multiple siblings and a mother and father not afraid to yell their feelings, could bring.  

Arianne nudged Durran’s knee with her foot, trying to get his attention.  Gunar didn’t look up from his work behind her ear, bringing his hand to her foot and pulling it back closer to him, as if psychic.  Perhaps he felt the irritation radiating off of Durran, at being touched by someone’s foot, no less.  He hated feet.  Arianne persisted, leaning over to get Durran’s attention.  “Your sister’s got some good shit.”  

Durran fought back the sigh he felt deep inside.  Elenei’s latest mistake was selling at his party.  To be truthful, he felt conflicted about the whole thing.  He’d asked the Freys over to sell their pills.  Did Durran have his own supply?  Sure.  If word got out to his parents that he enjoyed the occasional pill, he shuddered to think of what his mother would do.  He got the feeling that his father would be more relaxed about the issue, his mother on the other hand…  

It just made sense for Durran to keep his stash secret and put someone else in the line of fire should his parents ever find out about drugs at a party.  The Freys were a good choice.  They didn’t matter nearly enough to cause any damage, but weren’t so low on the totem pole that it would sully his name to be caught hanging with them.  Now Elenei was here, fucking it up with her boyfriend and whatever he was peddling.  But she was his sister, as annoying as she was.  If she was selling, he would allow it.  She pulled the age card on him a lot, being twenty-one, but she’d moved out and this was still his house.  It was he that allowed now, despite birth order in this case.

As people passed back and forth in front of him, he was vaguely aware of some raised voices, Elenei’s in particular.  Durran turned his head, listening closer, ignoring the ongoing rumble of music and people.  He couldn’t hear what they were saying, only that it wasn’t happy.  Two girls blocked his line of sight as they passed by.  When they got far enough to the side, he saw Elenei leaning across the table, gripping one of the Freys by the collar of his shirt, a pissed off look on her face.  

“Gunar.”  Durran’s voice was low as he said it, so quiet against the background cacophony that he wasn’t sure his cousin had heard it.  Any doubt he had was alleviated when he saw Gunar’s palm tap Arianne’s thigh and her slide out of his lap like a cat.  Durran made no movement, still slouched back into the couch as he watched his sister in between passers by.  Gunar on the other hand, was sitting up in his seat, scanning the room for what Durran requested his attention for.  

Durran let go of Nolla, his hand on his thigh.  She looked up at him and whimpered at the loss of contact and then turned her head, scanning the room for what he wasn’t sure.  His fingers itched and any cloudiness he’d experiences before cleared up as he sobered, eyeing the Frey caught in his sister’s clutches.  Out of nowhere, the man’s bawled up fist came up over her toned arm and punched her full force in her cheek.  Her head fell back with the impact and her resulting grunt and scream shivered down his spine.  

All sound was gone.  Thoughts didn’t exist.  Neither did his senses, particularly that of touch.  Durran had no indication that he was reaching for his gun, no concept of aiming and firing, and barely understood what happened as the Frey clutched his knee cap and squealed in pain.  Durran blinked a couple of times, consciously telling himself to relax his clenched jaw, and slowly rose from his seat.  The party divided into two factions: those who ran and those who braced themselves for what was to come.  Those that were armed found their pieces.

The Frey he’d shot in the kneecap, Stevron, the oldest Frey son.  He was writhing on the floor as Durran approached.  Gunnar rose behind him, to his right, and Nolla growled, staying to his left, slowly advancing.  He was mildly cognizant of one of the Frey brother, who’s name escaped him, up at the table, pointing a gun at him.  He was, on the contrary, very aware of Elenei’s arm, extended across the table, pointing hers back.  They had brought along with them someone not related by blood, possibly a nobody hoping to advance by banging one of their sisters.  He had the bright idea to raise his gun on Elenei.  Without needing to be told, Gunar raised his piece at the idiot.  

He listened to his sister speak, her face bleeding and swelling as she did.  “Don’t you dare point your fucking piece at my brother, you fuck-tard!” 

“He shot  _ my _ brother!”  The Frey shrieked.  

“It appears that way, doesn’t it?”  It was Gunar’s calm voice that answered, never taking his aim off of the man on Elenei.  Durran knew he could count on him. 

It was a standoff, no one could shoot without getting shot back.  That was except for Gunar, of course, last man in the chain.  Durran loved Gunar, but he loved Elenei more.  He kept his voice calm as he said, “Switch with Elenei.”  

Again, Durran was proud to note that his cousin needed no explanation to understand what he wanted, or time to think to comply.  He turned, pointing his gun on the brother that Elenei had in her sights.  The man they brought along looked confused, aiming his gun back and forth between Elenei and Gunar.  

Durran slowly holstered his gun, showing the Frey each step of the way that he was putting the deadly weapon away.  “Elenei, put your gun down.”  

“No.  I won’t.  If this sorry sack of shit shoots you, he’s going to die of lead poisoning.”  Elenei gritted through her teeth, shaking her head.  He didn’t have to see her face to know that tears were welling in her eyes.  It was hard for her to see her brother under the gun, though no harder, he imagined, than it was for him to watch her fall under someone’s fist.   

Durran looked up to see that her boyfriend had been one of the people who ran.  He knew she would be disappointed as soon as she was able to think about her love life again, current events being more pressing now.  His calm and soothing voice pulled her attention to him, “Elenei, _ I need you  _ to put the gun away.”  

She glanced from her target to him and back again.  Elenei stood up quickly, growling as she shoved her piece in her belt, “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.  Fucking Freys.”  

No longer seeing her a threat, and too stupid to use how much she meant to Durran, the third Frey focused all of his attention on aiming at Gunar.  Durran doubted that anyone would shoot, purposefully, as long as he didn’t kill Stevron.  He wouldn’t kill him, but he would teach him a lesson.  Nolla was whimpering and inching closer to the man’s knee, smelling the blood and hungry to taste it.  

“Sit!”  Durran commanded.  He would not allow her to gnaw on the man’s wounded kneecap.  It was savage, and it would give her the taste of blood that his mother had always warned him about.  She sat quickly, growling at Stevron as she did.  Her ass was rooted to the floor like the obedient pup she was, but that didn’t mean she liked it, and the room would hear about it.  

Durran stared down at his foot as he raised it, and stomped it down on the injury, listening to the horrendous wailing that ensued.  The brother screamed, “You sick fuck!”  

He would give the man no reply, instead talking down to Stevron.  “Sick fuck?  Really?  At least I don’t get off on hitting women!”  He took a deep breath and then almost spat, “That is Elenei  _ Baelish _ you hit.   _ My sister _ , you dumb piece of shit!”  Durran kicked him in the face as hard as he could.  “You don’t ever,” he kicked again, “ever,” again, “ever-”  

Elenei’s voice couldn’t be heard over the loud thumping of his own heartbeat as his shoes stained red with blood.  He didn’t stop till he felt a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades.  He would have whipped around to cuff its owner in the jaw if he didn’t know on some subconscious level that it was his sister’s hand.  He blinked and sound slowly returned to his ears.  Her voice was anxious as she said, “You gotta stop.  You’ll go too far.”  

“He already has!”  The brother screamed as he cocked his gun.  

Durran heard a click by his ear as Gunar’s pistol cocked too. 

A familiar voice sounded from the far corner of the room, “I don’t see how.  No one has died yet.”  Durran’s heart sank as he recognized his father before he came into view.  “We could stop now and make it for breakfast with our loved ones tomorrow morning.”  

The sound of heels clicking on the tile, told him that his mother was there too.  The brother scoffed, “I fucking doubt that Stevron’s going to be eating tomorrow.”  

“I don’t see why not.  Isn’t that what straws are for?”  His mother smiled as she came to a stop at his father’s side.  Durran watched him wrap an arm around her and grin against her shoulder.  The silver at his father’s temples had spread, sprinkling throughout his hair, and wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.  People told Durran that he got his dark auburn locks from his mother, though at times he wondered.  Hers was much more vibrant that his, even though it had lightened since the pictures of her youth, containing the stray silver strand.  She lacked the wrinkles that women her age were burdened with, though wore the lines of a face that had seen the rougher side to life.  To see them side by side, there was a large enough age difference to be notable, though Durran felt his father always looked his youngest when she was in the room with him. 

“Judging by that table covered in dust and pills, and my lovely daughter’s swollen face, I’d say there was a deal gone wrong.  My son must have felt the need to defend his sister’s honor.”  Dad deduced quickly.  

Mom furrowed her eyebrows at Elenei, “Are you single again?”  

“I fucking am now!”  Elenei gritted through her teeth, glaring at the empty chair beside her.  

“Oh, Sweetheart.”  Mom looked at her sympathetically, as if knowing what happened without being there to witness it.  She left Dad and wrapped her arms around Elenei.  “Do you want to stay tonight?”  

“No, I’m okay.”  Elenei answered, hesitation in her voice.  

“I think you should stay.  Let Mum fuss a bit, Princess.  It always makes you feel better.  Us too, you know.”  Dad added his two cents in.  

Durran knew this would happen.  He half wondered if she dated losers just to get all the special attention each time it didn’t work out.  He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, getting his father’s attention.  “Dad?”  

“Yes?”  

He gestured over to the guy still holding his gun on him.  “Guns are still out.”  

“Yes, they are.”  His father agreed, sounding bored.  “Fine.”  He shrugged, “How much do you want?”  

The Frey blinked back at him, “Excuse me?”  

“I like your dad.”  No he didn’t.  “And I think it’s important for us all to keep getting along.”  That part was true.  “So, how about this?”  He walked over to the table of drugs and eyed it in its entirety.  “I’ll pay you double for everything here, and we all put our guns away and all three of you leave,  _ alive _ .  Your brother got shot somewhere else, by someone else.”  

The Frey stared back for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say.  Before he answered, Mum spoke over Elenei’s head as she held her, “Petyr, the car.”  She then turned with Elenei and left.  

Dad nodded, “Right.”  He turned to Durran and said, “Give them your keys.”  

“What?!”  Durran exclaimed in disbelief.  

“You heard me.  Give him the keys to your car, now.”  Dad’s voice was firm.  

Durran fumed as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket and threw them down at the broken, wheezing mass on the floor.  

Dad praised, “Excellent.  Now, we’re going to leave this room, and when we return, none of you will be here.  Just a blood stain on my carpet.”  He looked down, examining it as he shook his head.  “Sansa’s going to be disappointed about the carpet, but I’m hopeful it can be restored.  Robb and Talisa will be visiting soon, I’m almost sure of it.” 

Completely disregarding the still-raised guns, the famous Petyr Baelish turned and made to leave, pausing only to leave a large wad of cash on an end table, and called back, “Boys.”  

Durran didn’t need to ask who his dad meant, and turned to follow, slapping his thigh as he did for Nolla to follow.  Gunar kept his aim, switching between both men as he backed away, covering them.  When Durran heard the door click shut and knew that Gunar had holstered his gun, he complained, “Did I have to give away the Masserati?  You know I love that car.”  

“Did you have to shoot someone?”  Dad’s response was fast.  

“I was protecting Elenei.”  He protested.  

“And you could have done it differently.”  His father chided as he threw an arm around him, gripping his shoulder.  Durran wanted to shrug him off, pissed over losing his car, but didn’t.  His father then looked over at Gunar and smiled, “You did wonderfully in there.”  

Gunar’s eyes grew wide, “Seriously?”  

Dad nodded, “You acted quickly, ready to do what needed to be done.  That’s commendable.”  

Durran refrained from telling him that was exactly what he was doing with Elenei, knowing it would only sound like a pout.  His father continued to praise Gunar, “You’re always  _ right beside _ my son, backing him up.  That kind of loyalty doesn’t go unnoticed.”  

“So you won’t tell Mom and Dad about this, Uncle Petyr?”  Gunar asked in surprise.  Though his cousin exuded an aged presence most of the time, every now and then he sounded like the sixteeen year old he was.

Dad laughed and clasped his free hand on Gunar’s shoulder.  “Of course not.”  

Just when Durran thought they were going to inside, his father used his grip on him to turn him out towards the garage.  “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”  His father’s smirk was all-knowing.  

Durran allowed himself to be lead into the garage, the lights turning on automatically, revealing a cherry red McLaren.  His father’s voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “For you.”  

His jaw dropped in shock, “Really?  What?  Why?”  The car had to be at least fifty grand more than his former Maserati, and wondered if his father was toying with him.  

Dad let go of Gunar and pulled Durran into a full embrace, gripping his face, giving each cheek a kiss.  “Because you make me proud.”  

“But, I thought I just pissed you off?”  Durran asked, distinctly remembering his father’s disapproving gaze when he complained about giving over his keys.

His old man’s smug smirk deepened, “I didn’t like your method.  But, I am proud that you acted.  You saw someone hurting your sister, and you stopped it.”  

Durran blinked back at him, swallowing a small lump in his throat, caught off guard that his rash behavior was being praised.  His parents had lectured him since before he could walk on the importance of planning and preparation, keeping a calm exterior and quelling the fire within.  He couldn’t stop himself, though.  His natural instincts to break anyone that laid a hand on Elenei prevailed and he’d been sure he would catch hell for it.  

His father continued looking between him and Gunar.  “We must always protect family.”  He then looked tired as he groaned, “And, until your sister gets past this ‘ _ phase _ ,’ of dating idiots, I suspect we’ll be defending her honor a lot.”

Gunar raised his chin, ever the skeptic, “Geez Uncle Petyr, you got a car here fast, unless you somehow knew what Durran would do tonight?”  

Durran winced, thinking his father would view the comment as disrespectful.  Instead, there was a glint in his eye as he said, “So much like your father.”  Durran wasn’t sure what he meant, Uncle Gendry didn’t tend to ask many questions.  His father chuckled as he explained, “The car was for me, but after walking in on this tonight, I’d rather reward my son.”  

Nolla ran ahead, sniffing all over the car and panting excitedly.  Gunar smiled as he walked toward it, “Damn, check out that grill.”

“Thanks, Dad.”  Durran turned to his father who grinned back.  

“You’re welcome.”  He tossed him the keys.  “Why don’t you boys take it out for a spin.  I’m going to try to steal your mother from Elenei.”  He then lifted his eyebrows and grinned deeper.  “Date night isn’t quite over yet.”  

“Ew, Dad.”  Durran felt revulsed by the knowledge that his parent’s bedroom door would be locked for good reason that night.  

His father chuckled and turned away, calling back, “Nolla, come.”  He explained quickly, “I doubt you want to take her with you.” 

Durran hopped in the car, excitedly starting the engine, glancing up to see his dog’s wagging tail as she trailed behind his father.  He turned his head to listen to Gunar as he rubbed a palm over the dash.  “Fuck, man.  This car is top notch.” 

Durran put the car in reverse and laughed, “Where should we go?”

Gunar smiled with some deviance, “I thought a saw a blonde in a bikini at the party that’s bound to be scared.  Chicks need a lot of comforting when they're scared, you know.”  

“You think Arianne is scared right now?”  Durran flashed him a playful grin.

Gunar sighed happily, “Let’s hope so.”  

Durran revved the car and sped forward, listening to the motor announce to the world what it meant to be a Baelish.       

 

 


	14. Family Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place between part 4 and 5 -- I've written how Durran was conceived, but not how they decided to have another.

“When Daddy home?” Elenei’s clear-blue eyes stared up at Sansa, more begging for his return than inquiring as to the length of his departure.

Sansa pulled the blankets up over them and sighed. “Not for a while sweetheart. He had to go far, far away to talk to some people for work.” Business had taken him out of town, _again._ It had been a little over a week, and based on their last conversation, it would be about that much more before he returned.

She hated it. In the past, Sansa would have simply gone with him, refusing to be left behind. Now, with Elenei to consider, they’d decided it best to maintain consistency for her, avoiding any disruptions in her schedule if possible. It was smart, responsible, and completely parental. Elenei’s bottom lip pouted. “No _pee-pole._ No woek. Daddy home.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Sansa pulled Elenei back against her chest, and began stroking the long obsidian locks over her shoulder. “I don’t like it either.” She leaned down to kiss her temple, and explained, “That’s why Mum lets you sleep in the big bed when Daddy’s gone. So I know you are safe. And so we aren’t alone.”

Elenei’s pudgy little hands came to rest on the arm Sansa thread through the crook of her neck. Her voice sleepy as she asked, “Stowey?”

Sansa stared at Petyr’s empty pillow as she started to tell her a story. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little girl who lived in the sea. Every so often she would swim close to the shore…” Sansa’s story eventually trailed off as she felt Elenei relax into her slumber, her weight much heavier. She held her for as long as she could before her arm started to tingle. Carefully, Sansa extricated it from beneath Elenei and shifted her over onto Petyr’s side more, giving her his pillow.

She was a safe distance away now, no danger of rolling over onto her in her sleep. Sansa grabbed her phone and texted Petyr, _Want to know who I sleep with when you’re not in town?_ She saw his icon indicate that he was replying. Before he could send his response, she snapped a pic of Elenei, pleased the flash didn’t wake her. The picture loaded in their message window and Petyr replied, _You live to give me a heartattack._

Sansa chuckled, _It’s good to know I can still get your blood pumping ;-)_

A minute later he responded, _I can’t wait to come home to my girls._

Her fingers flew across the keyboard. _Neither can we. How are things going?_

 _It was touch and go, but things are trending up._ His response would be guarded via text, she’d expected that. She would get the details when he got home.

She glanced over to Elenei, making sure she was still fast asleep. She was dead to the world, not moving a muscle when Sansa raised her arm and dropped it to make sure. Sansa lifted her shirt up to her chin, exposing her breasts, and fanned her hair out on the pillow enticingly. She gave her phone an alluring look and took the naughty selfie, hitting send immediately. She pulled her shirt back down, quickly so as not to be caught by Elenei, and texted, _My body misses yours._

A couple of seconds later, he replied, _I can’t decide if you are tormenting me with reminders of what I can’t have. Or offering me little presents with which to relieve myself until we are together again._

Sansa laughed out loud, and typed back, _Goodnight, Petyr. Sleep well._

She laid back, and stared at the ceiling, laying one arm across the bed so the back of her hand could rest against Elenei’s side. The solidity of the little body, the warmth of it, and its rise and fall, all assured Sansa of her wellbeing. It was something Sansa had done when Elenei was an infant, and SIDS was a concern. She would sleep with her hand spread across her tiny belly, feeling her breathe, _live_. More than a few times she’d woken suddenly to an empty bassinet under her palm. She’d look up and find Petyr holding their baby, telling her all the secrets of the world as he looked out the window. It was something she missed as Elenei grew, something she wished to see again.

Sleep finally took her away from her memories, and offered her no dreams to replace them. Or if it had, she wouldn’t remember. Perhaps that was the point of sleep. For her, it had only been an intermission between the rigors of the day, chasing Elenei around, and the longing she felt for Petyr.

There was so much she hadn’t noticed about the intrusion, that she would later chide herself for. She hadn’t woken to the sound of the door opening, or the feel of her shorts being pulled from her, all things she was sure she would have in every hypothetical situation she’d ever concocted. What finally roused her, was the heavy weight of a body pressing her down into the mattress. She blinked her eyes open, trying to make out the figure in the dark, her hand feeling for Elenei. There was nothing but the icy-cold sting of crisp empty sheets against the back of her hand. Panic set in and she told herself to remain silent, keep quiet until she had the bastard in her sights. It was just his weight that she felt, nothing more, no hands came to restrain hers. Did the intruder know she was awake, yet? Where was her daughter?

Sansa quietly moved her other hand down, between the mattress and the boxspring. The weight on top of her shifted, lifting her shirt up. It was only then that she finally realized she was naked from the waist down. She felt the hard steel of the pistol she’d hidden, and searched for the handle, keeping quiet. The room was dark enough to not only conceal the intruder’s identity, but also the fact that she was awake. Her best defense was one of surprise. When she got a good grip, she yanked the gun out quickly, her other hand grabbing the man’s hair and holding him in place as she jammed the barrel under his jaw.

His mouth started to open, pushing back on the gun. Sansa pressed it into him harder, not allowing this man to push her gun back. She ground through her teeth, “Where is my daughter?”

Unwilling to speak after she’d retaliated for his earlier attempt, he brought a hand to the one she held in his hair. He tugged it a little, silently asking for her to give him her hand. He shifted naked and hard between her legs, and any doubt she had that this intruder had meant to rape her was gone. Sansa cringed at how close he’d come to succeeding. She couldn’t think of that now. Her legs came up and wrapped around him, keeping him in place, using the unfortunate position she was in, to her advantage. Certain she had a secure grip around him, she released his hair, and allowed him to move her hand.

He extended it across the bed, and up a little higher than she’d felt before. She kept the gun to him, ready to blow his brains out. He swallowed, and she felt the movement of his throat against the pistol. Her fingers bumped into the familiar feel of Elenei, a slight snore emitting from her. She sighed in relief, and blinked back tears of joy. Remembering the creep on top of her, she hardened her voice to ask, “Who do you work for?”

He brought her hand to his chest, where she felt bare flesh, and a sprinkling of chest hair, confirming, as if she had any doubt, that it was in fact, a man on top of her. He moved her hand until her fingertips brushed against a smooth bump in the center. It was not very wide, but when she ran her fingers up and down it, there didn’t seem to be an end to the raised flesh. Realization hit suddenly as she breathed, “ _Petyr._ ”

“I’m hurt you didn’t know all along.” He frowned down to her.

“I was asleep.” Sansa pulled the gun away. “My only thought was, ‘Where’s Elenei?’ And, ‘there’s a man on top of me.’”

He pressed his erection against her womanhood as he chuckled, “ _Your man_.”

“Who I wasn’t expecting back for another week.” A wetness start to form, excited to feel him naked against her. “You should be pleased that I would defend what’s yours.” She waved the gun in the air for emphasis. Her eyes now adjusted to the dark, she knew he could see the basic outline of what she was trying to show him.

Petyr gripped her wrist, bringing the hand that held the gun back over to him so he could kiss it. “Oh, I am.” He nipped at her knuckles playful as he asked, “Would you really have shot me, with Elenei in the same bed.”

Sansa didn’t hesitate. “If it weren’t you, yes. In a heartbeat.” She let him take the gun out of her hand. She listened to him click the safety back on before reaching up and setting it on her nightstand.

“So fierce, my wife.” Petyr grinned in the darkness.

She squirmed, feeling him move against her core, and her naked bottom slide on their bed, indecently. “Would you really fuck me, with Elenei in the same bed?”

“I intend to.” Petyr brought the blankets up over them, before lowering his mouth to her breast.

Her back arched against her will. “ _Petyr!_ ”

“What was that? _Lower?_ ” He teased from under the blankets. He gave a martyred sigh, “If I must.”

Hot kisses trailed down her stomach, and her hips lifted, wantonly approving of his lecherous ways. “Petyr, this is wrong.”

“You love it when I fuck you awake.” He caught some of her thigh in his teeth.

Goosebumps pimpled her skin, regardless of the warmth of the covers around her and the hot man on top of her. His fingers toyed around her opening. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But, this is different. Elenei is right here.”

“And she’s sleeping.” Petyr dipped his fingers inside her. “She’s a sound sleeper. _Now_ , anyway. As long as we don’t jostle her, she shouldn’t wake up. Aren’t you thankful I insisted on the beautyrest mattress?”

“Petyr, no.” Sansa spoke firmly, in part to show her seriousness, but also to see if Elenei would move from the raised volume. She didn’t.

Sansa could feel him smile victoriously against her skin, “She’s easily over three feet away on a _California-king_ . Surely, you remember the commercial. They dropped a bowling ball on it, and it still didn’t spill the wine. I’m sure we can be more discreet than a _bowling ball_.”

Sansa shook her head reluctantly, her insides liquefying around the intrusive massage. “Elenei is not a glass of wine.”

“Regardless, she’s unconscious and we’ve literally had a sea between us, however narrow does not matter. _For a week_.” He curled his fingers inside her. “We need each other. We can make this work.” She muffled her gasp against her arm, when his fingers pushed against her sensitive spot. His voice dripped sin as he whispered, “Unless you’re planning on screaming my name.”

Sansa’s hips bucked up again, her heart racing at the memory of the many times she’d done just that with him. “What if she does wake up?”

He chuckled against her thigh, “It’s pitch black.” He lifted the blankets a bit, reminding her that they were there. “And we are covered. There’s really nothing to explain.”

“We shouldn’t,” Sansa forced herself to argue, as her body wholeheartedly agreed.

His fingers retreated from her, and smeared her wetness on her thigh. “If you really don’t want to, why are you so wet?” His head turned to hover his mouth over her throbbing sex, his hot breath teasing her further. “Why are you so ready to take me in?”

“ _Petyr_ ,” she begged, reflexively grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to her breast.

He caressed it, rubbing his thumb against her hardened nipple. “ _Petyr_ ,” she asked again.

She felt him breathe above her, not touching or tasting, just breathing. She was growing desperate. “Fuck, Petyr, _please_.”

He laughed and brought his mouth down to lick the length of her seam in one long stroke of his tongue. That was all he gave her. One torturous lick before he sat up and leaned over her again. This time, his elbows came to rest above her shoulders, his palm on her forehead. She shifted under him, her bundle of nerves crying out for the friction. Mint filled her nostrils as his lips moved against hers, and she loathed that she hadn’t the presence of mind earlier to sniff the air and recognize his scent when she thought someone had been sent to rape and murder her. He whispered, “If you want my cock, take it.”

Sansa needed no further instruction, gripping him firmly as she lifted her knees, opening herself wider to him. He kissed her throat approving of how she rubbed him all over her slick skin, until he was lined up perfectly. She let go of him, and brought her hands to his ass. Slowly, and deliberately, she used her handfuls to pull him down into her. Air left the both of them, as they hugged each other close, bottoming out.

Petyr’s fingers ran over her forehead, smoothing her hair from her face, as he lazily moved within her, careful not to jostle Elenei. The littlest Baelish made no movement or sound, save for the occasional snore. Sansa’s hands on his ass encouraged the depth of each gradual thrust, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth moved to her ear and asked, “Did you miss me?”

Sansa hugged him closely as she confessed, “So much.”

His fingers played in her hair, twisting and twirling it as he ambled between her legs, taking his time. “What did you miss most?”

“Bedtime.” Sansa’s answer was simple and true, and economical in nature. She was too lost in pleasure to think in depth, and too concerned she’d wake Elenei up to ramble on.

Petyr rested his forehead against hers as he grinned against her. “Of course my naughty wife would miss our sex.”

Her hand traveled to his bicep, feeling it flex with each muted thrust forward. “Yes. But, that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” He teased her. “Then what did you mean?”

She squeezed him in her legs, and ran her hands over the muscles in his back before answering, “When you hold me.”

He exhaled above her head, his voice turning tender as he said, “ _Sansa_.” She had never thought wanting to cuddle would be a turn on, but was pleasantly surprised to find him so focused and rhythmical all of a sudden.  His whisper was urgent as he confessed, “I can’t wait. I’ve been without you for a week.”

She knew instantly what he was talking about and ran her hand down his spine, before answering, “Don’t.”

“I want you to cum,” he breathed. “I can’t hold it. You feel too good.”

“Shh.” She brought her hand to the side of his face, petting him with adoration. “I’ll cum for you later. Don’t wait, Petyr.” His forehead pressed against hers as he drove himself into her harder. His body went rigid over hers and she knew he was finding his release. Her hand pet down his back encouragingly as she cooed to him, “That’s it, let it all out. I’ve got you.”

His orgasm was so quiet she would have questioned its existence, if she didn’t feel it pulsing inside her. He slowly caught his breath, face still driven into her as she hugged him and whispered again, “I’ve got you.”

They held each other like that for close to an hour, enjoying the familiar feel of each other. Eventually, when they pulled apart, Sansa used her balled up shirt to wipe them both clean and Petyr slid a pair of sweatpants on before handing Sansa her bathrobe. She was no longer hot and sweaty from their activities, but the feel of the cool satin on her skin was nothing short of heavenly.

They turned and climbed back into bed, Petyr pulled Sansa flush against him. The arm he had placed under her, reached across the bed, feeling Elenei’s hair. A few moments of silence passed, before Sansa confessed into the darkness, “I want another.”

He knew instantly her meaning, and asked, “Is she not enough?”

“She’s plenty.” Her hand reached out to meet his in Elenei’s hair. “Neither of us want her to be an only child.”

“No,” he agreed. He kissed her ear, “Why now? Elenei’s only just potty trained and sleeping through the night.”

“She’s been sleeping through the night for almost a year, Petyr.” Sansa countered, not letting him get away with how he tried to turn the conversation. “Don’t tack that onto your potty-point to make it seem larger than it is.”  

“Fine,” He agreed, though he did not relent. “Why now?”

“I miss it,” she admitted.

“Being pregnant?” She could hear the incredulity in his voice. “I seem to remember a fair deal of complaining,” he chuckled.

Sansa gave a frustrated sigh and scooted towards Elenei, and away from him. Petyr wouldn’t stand for her leaving his grasp and locked his forearm around her, pulling her back against him. He held her in place as he said, “I didn’t say ‘no.’ I just want to understand.”

Sansa stopped resisting, and he loosened his grip when he felt her muscles relaxing. She brought his hand to her lips, kissing it. He had let go of Elenei in his struggle to keep Sansa with him, and now used his free hand to smooth Sansa’s hair away from her face, so he could lightly plant kisses there.

“It’s not being pregnant that I miss, so much as--” Her hand brought his down to her belly, and flattened his palm over it. She craned her head around to face him, knowing it was too dark for either of them to make out many features. “Carrying _your_ child.”

His fingers tightened, digging into her abdomen. She caught his lips in hers, tongue teasing his, while he grew against her backside. She broke their kiss, and softened her voice. “I want to feel a part of you growing in me again.”

“ _Sansa_.” He cleared his throat, aware of the way it caught. His voice was thick and heady as he said, “If you keep talking like that, we’re going to have to get up.”

Her eyebrow furrowed, “Get up?”

He ground his erection against her and explained, “So we can go somewhere I can fuck you good and loud.”

She giggled, feeling her sex dampen in anticipation. “So, that’s a yes?”

He groaned, and not a happy one. “Of course it is. I can’t say no to you.”

“But you want to?” She turned quickly in his arms, bringing her hands to his cheeks, feeling for honesty.

“No.” He brought his forehead to hers and answered from his heart. “I want another too.” His arms wrapped around her, and slid over her satin robe, down to her ass, where he lifted the material, to cup the bare skin. “And I definitely want to watch you grow with my child again.” Excitement tingled between her legs as their groins met again, when he pulled her tighter against him. “I just thought there’d be more of a break in between.”

“You’re not ready yet,” she whispered, keeping a hold of his face.

He lowered his head, and her lips dragged over his nose to between his brows. “You’re upset with me,” he sighed.  

“Only if you didn’t tell me, and just went along with it.” She let her fingertips trace his eyebrows, and down over his cheekbones.

“You’re disappointed.”

She smiled at his vulnerability and kissed the flesh in front of her. “Not right now, but at some point, will you still want to make another _baby-Baelish_ with me?”

She fought a giggle as he growled and dropped his head lower, capturing her neck in his mouth. She was barely aware that her leg had lifted over his hip, instinctively angling her to their mutual advantage. His hand, hot under her ass, gripped her tightly. “Definitely.”

The giggle finally escaped her at the sound of such conviction in his voice. “Then, I’m not disappointed.” She regained her senses and brought her leg back down, his head back up. She whispered against his cheek, “Do you know how long you’ll need? I don’t want to rush you, I just want an idea of how long of a wait I’m in for.”

He exhaled, warm air blowing past her cheek. His hand left her ass, and smoothed her robe back down over it. “Give me a year.”

“A year?” In some cases that could feel like forever.

Petyr nodded. “One year, diaper-free. And then we’ll start trying.”

“ _Trying?_ ” Sansa felt a twinge of offense bristling her.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that we weren’t trying for Elenei. There’s a process to it, ovulation kits, calendars.” Petyr explained.

Sansa thought back to Elenei, one chemically uninhibited sexual encounter on the floor of a limousine and she was transformed overnight into a mother. Her heart squeezed at the memory of her innocence and naivety with July. Though the baby didn’t make it, Sansa succeeded in conceiving the first month she decided to try. “Fertility has never been my problem, Petyr.”

He hugged her close. “I know. I’m just telling you that when the time comes, I will pursue it passionately.”

“Mm, charts and hormone sticks. So passionate.” Sansa laughed, deciding to shake away any offense she felt earlier. He hadn’t meant to insult her, and he was right to be cautious in anything having to do with reproduction. She often wondered if she’d take after her mother, miscarrying every other pregnancy. If she was thinking it, he was too. She kissed his other cheek to match the one from before and smiled. “Okay, it’s a deal. One diaper-free year, _Mr. Baelish_.”

He groaned at that. She’d discovered his preference for being called Mr. Baelish, after one steamy roleplay wherein she pretended to be a temp he’d hired to be his secretary. She was worried that it was overdone and he’d be bored with the concept, but the minute she breathed, “ _Mr. Baelish,_ ” she was thrown back on his desk. She barely caught the desk lap, clutching it to keep it from falling on the floor as he rammed into her, papers and pens flying in every direction.

She could hear his jaw tighten as he said, “You are such a tease.”

“Welcome home, Petyr.” Before she could flirt further, she froze when a small hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“What is it?” Petyr whispered, feeling her tense in his grip.

She whispered, “Elenei.”

“Mum-ma.” Her tiny voice was light and sleepy.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Sansa asked, turning around to the small dark outline of her daughter.  

“Dweems.” She yawned as she answered. Sansa noted that she didn’t seem distressed at all, so clearly not a nightmare.

“What did you dream of, princess?” Petyr leaned over Sansa to ask.  

Any grogginess she might have had, left her as a sudden squeal of delight filled the room. She rocketed up out of the bed, and threw herself across Sansa, trying to reach Petyr. “ _Daddy home!_ ”  


	15. Shark Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV, takes place 2 years after Part 1 of The Baelishes

Sometimes it hit her harder than others. There was no way of predicting how severely it would affect her, only when. Most times, she would be a little more irritable and less in the mood to be touched. Other times however, the cramps took her over and she curled up on the couch, deep in her emotions.

She told him she was headed home, feeling under the weather. When he looked at the clock and saw that it was not yet lunch time, he glanced at his calendar, and sent Ros on an errand. He cancelled all his appointments for the day and as he unlocked his car, he turned to accept the bag from Ros.

When he got home, he instantly went to the bathroom and pulled the rice pack out of the drawer and popped it in the microwave. He started a fresh pot of coffee and emptied the contents of the baggy onto a small plate.

“Petyr, is that you?” Sansa called from the living room.

“Yes,” he answered, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. I’ll survive. Really, Petyr, it’s nothing.” She called back, frustrated with herself for being vulnerable to the human condition. Scratch that-- _female_ condition.

He poured the coffee into the cup, and mixed the cream in just how she liked it, adding a dash of sugar. “Of course, you’ll survive.” He pulled the rice pack from the microwave, and set it over his shoulder, his hands already burdened with coffee and a plate of iced lemon loaf. “And it’s not nothing.”

When he walked through the archway into the living room, Sansa gaped up at him from the couch. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Killed your lover,” He teased.

She laughed, dimples flaring on her cheeks. “ _Lover_? Hardly. I’ve only ever had one of those.”

“Do I know him?” Petyr asked, smiling as he set everything down on the end table beside the couch.

“Does anyone ever really know themselves?” Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, playfully as she sat up to let him sit behind her. Petyr pulled her back against his chest and tugged the pillow she’d been holding out of her grasp. She squirmed a little, “Petyr, what are you doing?”

“Shh, risk it?” He kissed the top of her head before grabbing the hot rice pack and laying it across her abdomen.

She winced and then sighed. “Oh, that feels good.”

“Don’t make me jealous of a rice pack.” Petyr grinned and set his arm around her.

Sansa laughed, reaching for the coffee on the table. “There isn’t any sugar in this, is there?”

She liked to pretend that she never took sugar in her coffee, but after fourteen years together, Petyr knew better. For a few days a month, Sansa would sneak some in. He made his voice apologetic as he admitted, “Just a pinch. Sorry, I forgot.”

“That’s alright, Petyr. It’ll be fine.” Sansa made as if she was doing him a favor by not being upset by it. He was thankful for their positioning on the couch so she wouldn’t see his smug smile.

“What were you watching?” He asked, knowing already. Before they were married, Sansa was acquainting herself with his home when she stumbled across some movies from his youth. The Terminator was one of them, a cheesy sci-fi movie with actors that either never made it big, or had, but were already on the other side of limelight. For whatever reason, Sansa watched it one night and fell in love with it.

He’d never taken her for a science-fiction type, but it was the relationship of the main characters that won her over. That, and the guns. Sansa always had a respect for women who were willing to fight back. It was one of the many things he adored about her.

When she confirmed that this was, in fact, what she was watching when he got home, he settled in for a long cuddle session on the couch. He’d seen the movie a million times, and could almost quote it by heart, in all of it’s horrible dialogue, but that didn’t matter. He would gladly give up an afternoon to hold her, while the kids were in school, unable to interrupt their quiet moment together.

At exactly the moment he could set his watch by, Sansa sniffled and started wiping her eyes. He asked, “Are you alright?”

She nodded, fervently. “Yes, it’s just so beautiful.”

“The robot with the accent?” He teased, knowing damn well what she was referring to.

She sighed, “No. _Kyle Reese._ He fell in love with a woman so deeply that he travelled back in time to save her. Back in time, Petyr. That’s love, right there. Someone being so willing to take such drastic measures to be with the woman they love.” She shook her head, and wiped a tear away with her sleeve. “Nevermind, you wouldn’t understand.”

Petyr thought to the many things he’d been through and done for Sansa: stabbing, shooting, evisceration… He laughed a touch sardonically, “No, I guess I wouldn’t. Because I lack _time travel._ ”

A phone buzzed, interrupting him from building a solid state of disgruntlement. He looked at the table and saw that it was hers. “It’s yours.”

“Who is it?” She asked, finally taking a bite of lemon loaf.

Petyr read the name of the kids school across the display screen. “The school.”

“Answer it,” she shrugged.

“They didn’t call my phone,” he noted with a bit of irritation.

She chuckled in his arms. “Aren’t they your kids too? You can reach better than I can.”

Damn right they were. Petyr slid the phone’s icon to respond. “Hello.”

“Oh. Uh…” The voice paused. “Is _Mrs._ Baelish available?”

“Just a moment.”

He knew Sansa could feel him tense around her, because she turned to face him. He covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “They asked to speak to you specifically.”

Her eyebrow furrowed as she took the phone, reluctantly, “Okaaaay.” She brought the phone to her ear, “This is Sansa.”

He studied her face, watching her eyes widen and then immediately soften. Her hand came to her mouth and a tear ran over her cheek. “We’ll be _right there_!”

“What?” Petyr asked as she shot off the couch, grabbing her purse as she ran. Did one of the kids go into anaphylaxis shock? Were either of them even allergic to bees? Or peanut butter, for that matter? Did some little punk kid push Durran down on the playground, and break his arm or leg? Did someone take them? How secure was that school anyway? What the hell could have warranted such a reaction from Sansa?

She was already out the door. Petyr stood up quickly, too quickly, feeling his leg cramp. He played through the pain, taking long strides to catch up. She was in the garage fumbling with her keys when Petyr grabbed her. “What’s going on?”

Sansa looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide as she answered, “It’s Elenei. She’s…”

“ _Yes?_ ” Petyr pressed, unlocking his car and all but throwing her in the passenger seat.

Sansa waited until Petyr got in beside her and started backing out of the garage. She looked a thousand miles away as she answered, “She’s becoming a _woman._ ”

His foot stomped on the brake suddenly, and both he and Sansa’s jolted forward. “What did you just say to me? She’s eleven.”

“I know.” Sansa shook her head. “I talked to her about it, she knows. It’s still… She’s just… I mean, she’s younger than I was when--” Sansa broke off, finally noticing the way Petyr glared at her. “What?”

“Did they give you a name?” Shooting pain shot through Petyr’s cheek, reminding him to unclench his jaw.

She looked confused. “A name?”

Petyr sped down the drive. “Of the dead little boy that played grown-up with our daughter.”

Sansa blinked a couple of times as they passed through the gate, slowly realizing. “No. Petyr. It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?” He stared ahead at the road.

Sansa brought her hand to his leg, the contact grounding him. He glanced out the corner of his eye at her as she smiled. “Elenei got her first period.”

“Well, that’s…” Petyr blinked a few times, trying to find the words to say. “That’s just…” He turned quickly to look at the pride in her face. “She’s too young for that.”

Sansa slid over as far as the console would allow and rest her chin on his shoulder, her palm on his stomach. “No, Petyr. She’s not.”

Of course she wasn’t, but this was Elenei they were talking about. If Petyr could will it, she wouldn’t be allowed to have a period, ever. At a certain point, she’d simply stop growing and be his little girl forever. Grandchildren were overrated. He didn’t need her to grow, he needed her to stay the same. His heart clenched as he tried to remain calm. “Sansa…”

She kissed his shoulder. “I know.”

She did. He knew that she did. It didn’t make it any easier, though. When he pulled into the school’s drive and parking the car, Sansa assured him. “She’s going to be alright, Petyr. She just needs to come home, and let us pamper her a bit.”

He nodded, as he got out of car. Where had the time gone? It felt like just a month ago he was replacing the practice blade on her butterfly knife to a real one. Or was that two months ago? He remembered so vividly the day she was born, screaming bloody murder, as he cut the cord connecting her solely to Sansa.

He hadn’t realized that he’d come to the office until the door opened. Sansa must have guided him along, realizing how shaken he was. He told himself he shouldn’t be. It was a period. Every woman had them. _Woman--Elenei._ No. Those two words did not go in the same sentence. Not yet. Not for many years. He stepped into the office and caught sight of her immediately, her face blotchy from crying. Her arms clutched around her stomach, and her hair hung in her face. Sansa flew to her, crouching next to her, pulling the hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “ _Sweetheart_.”

Elenei looked up at her, her chin quivering in response. She glanced up at Petyr and her jaw dropped, horrified. “You brought, _Dad_! Oh my god, I wanna die.”

“Shh, shh, no. Daddy understands. He just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Sansa shook her head trying to calm her.

“It’s a period, I’m not dying. You didn’t have to bring him too.” She stood up and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Petyr tried not to take it personally, seeing the mortification that darkened her cheeks. He wore his most understanding expression and softened his voice. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, princess. It’s natural.”

“Oh. My. God. Dad. Seriously? _Princess?_ ” Tears welled in her eyes as she stormed past them.

Petyr looked to Sansa, “What did I say?”

She kissed his cheek quickly and ran after her. Petyr turned to the secretary in the office, offering a weak apology and some gratitude for the call when she stopped him and pointed across the room. “He’s been suspended for two days.”

Petyr glanced back in the sitting area, not seeing anyone. He was about to ask her for clarification when he stepped around an awkwardly placed shelf and saw a familiar messy red mop left to look up at him suddenly and utter, “ _Shiiiit._ ”

Petyr took a step forward and pulled the headphones from his son’s ears, no doubt how he completely missed hearing Elenei’s dramatics. “Shit, is right. What did you do?”

Durran blinked back at him, “I thought they were calling Mum.”

“Answer me, now.” Petyr stared back into the grey-green eyes that could be a mirror image of his own.

“Can I tell you after we get out of here?” Durran glanced at the secretary.

Smart. Whatever he got caught for, clearly wasn’t all that he’d done. Petyr nodded. The secretary rose from her seat as they started to walk out. “The principal will want to talk with you before he returns, and he is expected to replace that boy’s sneakers.”

Petyr raised his eyebrow at Durran as he spoke to the secretary, “Of course.”

The minute they were on the front steps, Durran put his hand on his arm. Petyr kept walking, “You can tell me in the car.”

“No, Dad.” Durran’s lips thinned, set in determination. “Not around Elenei.”

That got his interest. Petyr glanced ahead to the car. Sansa and Elenei were sitting in the backseat talking, seemingly unaware of his presence on the front step. He pulled him aside to one of the benches. “Start talking.”

Durran squirmed, uncomfortably picking at the cord to his headphones. “You know Elenei started that gross shit, right?”

“Stop saying ‘shit.’” Petyr felt obligated to remind him, Sansa a mere fifty feet away.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“And it’s not gross.” Petyr was quick to defend a woman’s time of the month. He smiled to himself at how progressive he’d become over the years. That was no doubt, thanks to Sansa. If he wanted to keep up with the Stark he’d married, he couldn’t allow his thinking to age as much as his body. “It’s just…” He couldn’t think of the best way to explain it. “It just is. It’s _life_ , Durran. Women bear it, and we don’t. The least we can do is respect it, and do whatever we can to help them with it.”

“I did,” Durran answered matter-of-factly. “I helped her.”

“What?” Petyr felt his eyes widen in surprise. “You did?”

“That’s why I got suspended.” Durran twisted the cord between his fingers.

Petyr was confused, though worked to present a placid exterior. “Please, explain.”

“It happened during swim. Sixth graders and second graders share the pool on tuesdays first half a.m. practice. I saw her.” Durran’s finger picked at the rubber casing, furiously.

Petyr let his hand rest on his son’s shoulder, offering him silent support for whatever it was troubling him. Durran took a deep breath. “Addam was there too.”

“Who’s Addam?”

“Elenei’s boyfriend.” Durran rolled his eyes. “Maybe he’s not anymore. I don’t know. Sixth graders are dumb.”

“Boyfriend?” Petyr felt his fist tighten in his hand. “Why do you think he’s her boyfriend?”

“Cause Elenei gets stupid around him, and said that he told his best friend, who told her best friend, that he wanted to kiss her.”

 _Kiss her?!_  Perhaps this Addam had forgotten that Elenei was just a sixth grader, eleven years old. Kissing was well over the line. Petyr took a deep breath. “Go on.”

Durran sighed, uncomfortable. “She was drying off, being weird with her friends in front of him. And he started laughing and pointing at her, screaming, ‘Shark bit her pussy!’ I looked because I didn’t know what what he meant when he said ‘pussy,’ and she had blood on her legs.”

Rage boiled under Petyr’s skin, and heat escaped from beneath his collar. Durran’s voice caught in his throat. “It was awful, Dad. She was crying so bad. Everyone was laughing at her.”

Petyr lost circulation in his hand, squeezing it so tight at the image of his princess humiliated in front of so many people. He glanced at her through the passenger window, Sansa’s head was bowed over hers. Petyr barely recognized his voice as he asked, “What is Addam’s last name?”

“Osgrey,” Durran’s response was automatic, and Petyr instantly felt more calmed by it. He had a name now. He ran it around his brain a bit, _Osgrey. Osgrey. Was he Eustace’s boy?_ “What does his dad do for work?”

Durran shrugged, “I don’t know.”

No bother. He would be looking Osgrey up. If he was in fact, Eustace’s, Petyr had a few ideas for how he’d handle the situation on a more adult level. He stared ahead, voice eerily calm as he asked, “Why were you suspended, Durran?”

“I got mad. I’m sorry. It just wasn’t right, you know? The teachers weren’t doing anything. And she was crying.” Durran started to ramble, tip-toeing around his confession.

Petyr remembered the secretary mentioning shoes. “Did you throw his sneakers in the pool?”

“I wish.” Durran chuckled. “I _peed_ in them.”

Petyr felt what resembled a giggle tickle his insides, threatening to come out. That was ridiculous, Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish did not _giggle._ There was that one time, but he strictly forbid Sansa from using the feather in that particular place ever again. The silence did nothing to calm his young son, dreading punishment. “I take it Addam didn’t like that?”

“He said he was going to kick my ass-- _bum_.” Durran corrected himself quickly.

Petyr was surprised at his son’s lack of fear over the prospect. This Addam kid was four grades above him, after all. “You don’t seem concerned about that.”

Durran sighed again, his head staring down at his feet. “I know it was wrong, Dad. I’m already being punished…”

“Why aren’t you scared of Osgrey?” Petyr brought his hand down to Durran’s, stilling his nervous motion.

“I told him to go ahead. He could beat me up bloody, I still had the bigger dick.” Petyr coughed a little in surprise. He shouldn’t have been, and he knew that he had spoken much worse in any one of the various group homes and foster placements he’d lived in, at a much younger age too. He’d heard Durran spit out “shit,” and “ass,” a hundred times before, a thousand times when his cousin Gunar was around. He had never heard his son talk about his penis before, however, and especially in such a way.

At seven years old, did he even know what he was saying? Durran continued, “Everyone laughed at him so hard that he turned and took off. They all told me that I got him, but I was just looking everywhere for Elenei. That was when Addam came back with the teacher, and I got sent to the office for what I did to his shoes.”

Petyr looked down at the copper-red hair that glittered in the sunlight, and he wrapped his arm around his son, and pulled him close. Petyr gave him a quick peck on the top of his head. “You did good.”

Durran finally met his eye. “But I got suspended…”

“Eh,” Petyr shrugged. “You were caught. It’s not the end of the world. I’ve been caught before.” His mind flashed to the few times he’d been in prison. “You were taking care of your sister. I’m proud of you. What do I always tell you?”

“Take care of family,” Durran recited.

“That’s right. And that’s just what you did.” Elenei may have taken a step towards womanhood, but little Durran was becoming a man today, as well. Petyr squeezed his shoulder, and stood up. “Addam is a snitch. People don’t respect snitches. They don’t last long.”

“In the sixth grade?” Durran glanced up at him, confused.

Petyr blinked, realizing what he was saying out loud. “Sure.”

As they neared the car, Durran stopped him. “Please don’t tell Mum.”

“I have to tell Mum, Durran. You know how this works.” Petyr straightened his hair, brushing at a cowlick. “She’ll be proud of you too.”

“I peed in Addam’s shoe, said the ‘D’ word, and got suspended.” Durran eyed him skeptically.

Petyr thought of Sansa snuggled into him not a half hour before, crying over the beauty of a supposed love story hidden in the depths of a sci-fi action movie fraught with robots and plots to enslave mankind. A little pee, swearing, and suspension seemed small in comparison. “I think you’re fine.” Then something occurred to him, “Why didn’t you want to say that in front of Elenei?”

Durran rubbed the back of his neck. “All she knows is that I peed in Addam’s shoes. She doesn’t know the rest.”

“You don’t want her to?” Petyr asked, amused.

“No. She gets mad when I stand up for her. She keeps telling me that she’s the big kid and that she’ll protect me, not me protect her. When she saw me in the office, she asked me what I did. I told her about the pee, but that was it and she pretended to get mad, told me I shouldn’t have done that.” Durran shook his head. “But she was smiling and told me that she’d stick up for me with Mum.”

“Ahh.” Petyr understood all too well now. His chest felt about to burst as he realized just how completely his children protected each other. “Okay, I won’t tell Elenei.”

Petyr opened the passenger door and Durran hopped in. He didn’t like him sitting up front, but he wasn’t about to ask Sansa to release her maternal grip on Elenei in the back. When he got in the driver’s seat and shut the door, he realized he’d come in right when Sansa was questioning Durran, “ _Suspension!_ Suspension for what?”

Elenei suddenly groaned loudly, “Mum, it hurts so much.”

Sansa squeezed her tighter. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll get you some acetaminophen when we get home, and a rice pack for your tummy.” She glanced up to Petyr, " _Osgrey_ , we need to remember that name." Petyr nodded back, in full agreement. Before he could say so, she had turned to Durran. “You are seven years old, what could you have possibly done to warrant a suspension?”

Petyr glanced in the rearview mirror at Elenei, who turned on the waterworks. “ _Mum!_ ”

Sansa startled, her attention drawn back to the daughter in her arms. “What?”

“I need you! He was supposed to be my boyfriend, and he--” She sniffled. “He--” She wiped away more tears. “He broke my heart!”

“Oh, Sweetheart!” Sansa hugged her as much as the seat belts would allow. “It only feels that way, now. Trust me on this.”

Petyr pulled out onto the main road, glancing up in the mirror. Elenei’s head poked out from under Sansa’s arm. He watched her give a half-hearted smile and a wink. And he quickly looked over to see Durran turned around in his seat staring back at her. Petyr brought his hand to his mouth to hide his grin. Elenei was playing Sansa, and Sansa was too into her role as mother to see it. She also didn’t have the benefit of Durran’s testimony, as he did. He listened to Sansa coo down to Elenei, “His name is Kyle Reese, and he actually goes back in time, to be with the woman he loves. You’re going to love it. I’ll start it from the beginning as soon as we get home. Do you want anything? Muffin? Cookie?”

Petyr heard a quiet voice say, “Ice cream. The one with the marshmallows.”

“Of course.” Sansa kissed her head again. “Petyr, we need ice cream, _now_.” Petyr knew for a fact that ‘the one with the marshmallows’ was Durran’s favorite flavor, not Elenei’s.  

He wondered how she would sneak it to him later. So young, and already his kids knew how to survive, who to teach a lesson, how to pay someone back. They were going to rule the city someday, but for now the school would have to suffice.

 


	16. Redheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothor Brune's POV -- happens between parts 4 and 5 of The Baelishes

It was hard to focus on the road with them in the back seat of the cruiser, their short skirts riding up, and the straps of their dresses sliding down their shoulders. I tried to kept my eyes fixed on the gray space between the lines, as much as I could. I am only a man, after all. Let me tell you, they were  _ all woman _ , both of them. I reminded myself that they must have done something, known somebody, to get themselves there. 

Lieutenant caught me looking, only because he was too, and warned me they were not to be trusted. As if I needed to be told. I mean, who trusts a skirt in cuffs, anyway? To speak the truth, I never really trusted Lt. Slynt either. Not that it matters. When a man’s your superior ranking officer, you do what he says. Trust isn’t a part of the equation. Neither is respect.

So, it wasn’t either of those things that made me keep my mouth shut and take a ride with him after work. I want to say that it was duty and honor for the job, but I’d stopped caring about the job long ago. At my age, (forty-two and grey in more places than I’d like to admit) never being promoted past Sargent, should tell you just how little the job cared about me. At least we were on the same page; the only other person on the planet that can claim that is my AA sponsor. 

Luckily, Slynt knew how to speak my language, and shoved a wad of cash in my hand when he asked me if I was interested in a side job. When I say ‘wad,’ I mean a  _ stack _ of bills almost too thick to fold over. Money like that can motivate a man to do just about anything, especially when you come from where I come from. A nobody from nowhere, bound to be nothing. 

He told me we were picking a trick up, some club downtown. I didn’t know who’s club, not at the time. I had just moved to the city from Brownhollow, (spitefully nicknamed Brown-Swallow) not a couple weeks prior. This was no doubt, Slynt’s way of breaking the new guy in. As if a man my age needed to be broken in. I would be flattered by the idea, if I didn’t know that he was just like anyone else in power, hard over the chance to yank the leash and remind you that you’re on one in the first place. Prick. 

It was the only logical reason why he came to me. He didn’t need the help. How much fight could one woman give? Besides, the badge usually got them walking. He never shared the next step in the plan and I never asked. It was simple enough: get the redhead in the car. I didn’t hesitate when he waved his hand at me over the steering wheel and sent me in to get her myself. 

Easy money. 

When I got inside, I followed Slynt's directions, all the way to the back office. I wish I could say that it was just like he said, but he wasn’t a very detailed guy and I opened a couple of doors before I found what I was looking for. She was standing in the center of the room, red hair flowing down her back, and a skin tight dress hugging every curve her body was blessed with. I probably wouldn’t have noticed the stilettos if she wasn’t turned away from me, giving the best view of her round ass, that made my palms itch to touch.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, just due to  _ circumstances _ , and she reminded my dick what it was missing. I felt guilty feeling it, she wasn’t Mya. No one would ever be her, but fucking isn’t the same as what I felt for her and a tight ass is just a tight ass, nothing more. It’s not cheating. Besides, it’s not like we were a thing anyway, she’d never notice me. I thought about the redhead in front of me, and pictured her wrapping her long legs around me for the right price.  

I groped the wad of cash in my pocket to reminded myself that it was more important than any pussy that walked by. My dick ached, but my heart eased when I decided not to touch her and resigned myself to jerking off later instead. She looked at me, and I didn’t say a word. Neither did she. I was worried I’d have to clear my throat if I tried to talk, and she’d somehow know my cock was about to bust my zipper. I don’t know why she didn’t say anything. I thought that maybe a horny middle-aged man barging in on her, was something she was used to in her line of work. 

In place of words, I held up my badge. She took it from me. And I let her! I snatched it back quickly, scolding myself for letting a pussy that I’d never seen influence me. I pulled my cuffs out and held them up.

“Are those necessary?” She asked, her voice made of silk. Or at the very least, that expensive knock-off  _ sateen _ .

According to the instructions, yes. They were simple: find the redhead, handcuff and gag her, and put her in the back of the cruiser. I didn’t respond. Silence is usually always the better option. She didn’t argue or fight back when I gripped her arm, no harder than I needed to, and brought it behind her back, her other to meet it. I clicked them in place, and I could swear I saw her smile a little. I decided I must be crazy, no trick is happy to be cuffed by an officer. So I shook the thought out of my head and grabbed the gag out of my pocket.

She started to protest, “Seriously? I’m not even--” 

I cut her off, shoving the material in her mouth and tying it behind her head. I almost apologized, but bit it back. What did I care if I gagged this whore a little too hard? A beauty like that, I was sure got a lot rougher on any given night. Still, there was no need to be forceful, especially not with someone complying. 

I had turned her to leave, when the door opened and a woman walked in, talking as she looked at her feet. When she looked up, her eyes bulged in shock and she opened her mouth to yell for help. I was faster, though. I charged her, slamming her back against the door to shut it, my hand covering her mouth to muffle her screams. I used my side to pin one of her arms down, and released her other arm just long enough to rip my tie off and shove it in her mouth. In the two seconds it took me to do so, she kicked my shin and reached for my gun, pulling it on me. 

I don’t care if you’re a three hundred pound man or a ninety pound girl, you kick someone’s shin, they’re gonna feel it. Especially if you do so wearing hooker heels. Fuck that hurt. I won’t pretend I didn’t double over a little. I never lifted my hip from her other arm though, and that’s easily what saved my life from the trigger-happy hooker, who fired the gun by my ear. As I struggled to regain the gun, my ears ringing, I glanced back to look at the girl I’d cuffed, making sure she wasn’t hit. She was fine, filing cabinet beside her took the hit instead. She almost looked amused by her near death experience. 

The feisty chick I was wrestling with fired again, this time hitting the couch. She growled through the improvised gag, still unable to quite spit it out without any free hands to help her. Finally, I decided enough was enough and I punched her once in the gut. Her yelp of sudden submission was unmistakable, even muffled under the material in her mouth. It was a sick sound, and I hated myself for it. She was just defending herself. I told myself that she tried to shoot me, she didn’t deserve my sympathy. Besides, I only did what I had to do to subdue her, nothing more. It was just a job. 

I held her arms behind her back, while I glanced around the room, looking for something to restrain her with. Like the donut-eater he was, Slynt finally  _ arrived on the scene _ . 

Like the redhead before him, he spoke before he looked up. “You’re supposed to cuff her, not fuck her!” His jaw dropped when he finally noticed them both. “Fuck, which one is it?” 

I stared back at him, not catching his meaning at first. I looked between the woman in my grasp and the one cuffed in the center of the room. Both of them were redheads, both dressed for the club they were in, and both of them had bodies I’d be thinking about later. How had I not noticed that the woman I’d been wrestling also matched the description of who I was meant to capture? Adrenaline, that’s how. I looked back at Slynt. “Cuff her.” 

“Excuse me? I’ll give the orders here.” He didn’t take well to be instructed by someone as lowly as me. 

I tried not to roll my eyes as I kept my answer simple. “We don’t know which one it is. Two shots were fired. We need to leave now.” 

Finally seeing reason he nodded and cuffed the woman I held, taking her from me and pushing her through the door. His movements were more hostile than necessary, and I found myself clenching my jaw at him, as I escorted the first woman, barely a hand on her. Slynt didn’t need to be so shitty to the woman who wrestled me, it’s not like she kicked him in the shin, or pulled his own gun on him, or  _ shot at him _ . Fuck, I kinda respected her. She was a fighter, for sure, even if was obvious that she wasn’t trained. 

We loaded them in the back and he threw the keys to me, barking, “Drive!” To where, I didn’t know. After a while, I started to wonder if even he did. The whole ride, I listened to him grumble about how this wasn’t the plan. How there weren’t supposed to be two. He was going to ask for double next time. He told me he should take some money back for “saving my ass” back there. I glanced up in the rearview mirror, at two sets of eyes staring back at me. One pair smiled, as if she could read my mind, and agreed that Slynt was a grade-A dickhead. The other just glared at me, silently promising not to miss the next time she ever got a hold of a gun. 

I tipped my head to the one with fire in her eyes, silently telling her,  _ You can try. _ It wasn’t that I particularly desired to harm her, but I would respect any need she felt to come after me, and I would always protect myself. I avoided the other set of eyes as much as I could. There was something about them that made me uneasy. She was too calm, too  _ amused. _

The whole thing felt wrong. She allowed herself to be taken too easily, especially compared to the other woman. The shots fired were from my service pistol, not exactly the quietest piece. Why didn’t anyone come running? How were we able to get out of there so easily?

“Up here,” Slynt waved to a service road ahead. I slowed down and stopped at the ‘No Trespassing’ sign fixed to the closed gate. I looked at Slynt to get out and open the gate. He didn’t budge, just smiled and said, “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.” 

I sighed and put the car in park. When I wrenched the door open, I caught those eyes in the mirror again, telling me what a piece of shit Slynt was. The other set seemed to agree. In any other circumstance, we all might have enjoyed each other’s company. That’s just my life though, really, a series of ‘ _ in any other circumstance _ ’... 

The gate wasn’t heavy or hard to move, just time consuming. As I crossed the pavement to pull the other side of the gate open, I looked through the windshield, and saw Slynt yapping away on his phone. When I opened the door to get in, he was quick to hang up, clearly not wanting me to overhear his conversation. As I settled in my seat, and put the car in drive, I looked up in the mirror. Both of them looked uncomfortable, more so than before. What had they heard? 

“Stop here,” Slynt was practically opening the door before I could stop the car. He was antsy all of a sudden, like he couldn’t get moving fast enough. I hadn’t even seen him that motivated to move when we were trying to get out of the club after calling such attention to ourselves. I could only attribute it to the private call he’d taken. 

He reached in the back, pulling the first redhead out, pushing her hard towards the chainlink fence, until she fell to the gravel. “Get the fuck up, you clumsy bitch!” 

I pulled the fighter out of the back, guiding her towards the fence, glancing down at the fallen woman who’d finally stopped smiling with her eyes. She tried to lift herself up, but with her arms cuffed behind her back, it was next to impossible. Slynt laughed at her pathetic attempts and walked towards the fighter I’d brought the the fence. He turned her around and uncuffed one hand, holding her in place. 

As predicted, she stomped on his foot and slipped his grip, reeling back to deck him across the face. He caught her arm before she could, but that didn’t stop her from headbutting him as hard as she could. He was bigger and stronger, and it was no question that he would overpower her, but she was set on getting some good licks in before that happened. I hid the smile that threatened to creep out. Slynt was a dick, and if it weren’t for the wad of cash in my pocket, I wouldn’t have minded if she bested him. 

He managed to pull her cuffs around the top of the fence and bring her free arm up, clicking the it back into place. It was a power play, plain and simple. They were no threat, not even Fighter, not a match against our muscle and experience. Add to that, their arms were behind their backs, they were as defenseless as it got. Yet he had to worse it by stringing her up like she were an animal to be bled, on tiptoe. When he was satisfied she wasn’t going anywhere, he called over his shoulder, “Pick up that lazy-ass bitch and fix her to the fence.” 

I lowered my head, and fondled the cash in my pocket. This whole thing was bullshit, but it paid. As I walked to the original redhead, laying on the ground, I listened to him address Fighter behind me. “So you think you’re fucking tough?” 

I crouched down, and gripped the woman’s shoulder, helping her raise her to sitting. She held my gaze the whole time, trying to tell me something, what I didn’t know. I heard the sick smack of his knuckles crunching into Fighter’s face and her resulting scream, while watching the woman in front of me’s eyes dilate. It should have been fear that ate her ice-blue irises away, leaving only a black hole pupil. It usually is fear. This wasn’t that, though. It wasn’t even anger or hatred. 

I braced her, letting her lean into my chest, trying to touch her with my hands as little as possible as I brought her up from the ground. Somehow it seemed like less of a violation if she were using my body to rise, as opposed to me just grabbing and hefting. I wondered why that seemed to matter. It’s true, I never liked jobs that involved women, I always wondered about my Mya. No, sorry, not  _ my. _ She’s not mine, and I need to just get the fuck over it. A job was a job, women or no women, but I didn’t have to be crude about it too.

It was only when I got her to a full stand, and followed her gaze to Slynt, that I realized it was  _ rage _ . His laugh was sick as he said, “What’s the matter, bitch? I hear whores get more money when they don’t got any teeth in the way!” 

I didn’t have to guide the raging redhead to the fence, she went of her own accord, as she had in the club. I held her arm as I uncuffed it, waiting for resistance. Despite the fury in her eyes, she offered none. I tried to look neutral as I brought her arms up to the top of the fence and cuffed them there, though, I’m sure she saw the apology on my face. 

Slynt took a step back and turned to me, “You ever hear of Littlefinger?” 

I nodded. Of course I’d heard of Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish. There wasn’t a person in the city that didn’t know of him. He and his wife ran the whole top half of the city. Lannisters ran the bottom. No one fucked with the Baelishes, or the Lannisters. I got the organized crime report before I transferred.  

“These are his women,” Slynt boasted. 

My stomach dropped. 

I was completely and utterly fucked. 

Life as I knew it was over. You didn’t steal Littlefinger's newspaper and expect to live, let alone ‘his women.’ I tried to hide the tremble in my hands, and I didn’t dare speak, fearing there might have been a shake to it. Slynt liked to hear his own voice anyway, and that worked to my benefit. “He likes to deal in whores--what man doesn’t?” He laughed at his own joke. “We were supposed to pick up his wife, but it looks like we got one of his whores too.”  

I looked at Fighter’s face, swollen and bloody. Would she be Baelish’s wife? Grabbing my gun, fighting with every ounce of her being to avoid being taken from him? I looked over at the original redhead, calm as a kitten. Was it her? Too cooperative. Too controlled. I gave Slynt a curious look and waved my finger between the two. 

“Fuck if I know.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and smacked it against his palm. “Stannis only said there’d be one redhead--his wife.” 

Stannis Baratheon! The goddamned police commissioner! Fuck. Commissioner Baratheon and Littlefinger, the big names were stacking up and suddenly the wad of cash in my pocket didn’t feel large enough. I glanced back at the car, thinking of the keys I’d left in the ignition. Which would be worse, leaving Baelish’s wife at Slynt’s mercy? Or staying and being caught with his wife cuffed to a fence in the first place? I was so royally fucked. 

Slynt plucked a cigarette from the pack, “See, I could ask why the commissioner wants Baelish’s wife, but I know better than to ask questions.” He glanced over to me, lighting the cigarette in his mouth. “Let’s hope you’re smart too.”

I tried not to roll my eyes at him. I knew the moment I met him that I could take him. He was younger than me, but slower, less disciplined, and lazy as fuck. I gave him a patronizing smile, that he read as cooperative. 

He smirked, “Good.” He took a step forward, reaching for the gag on Fighter. “So, which are you? Whore or wife?”

She spit at him, a mixture of blood and saliva splattering on his face. “ _ Aw fuck _ !” He screamed dropping his cigarette to the ground quickly to wipe feverishly at his cheek. “You think she’s got aids or some shit? Whores are so fucking dirty.” 

I fought the urge to ask him what if she was the wife. Fighter laughed, “You better hope I’m the dirty whore.” 

“What does that mean?” He looked up at her, not understanding. 

She remained silent, smiling through her cracked lips, taunting him. She had to be the wife. Only Littlefinger’s wife would be that brassy. I glanced over to the original redhead, she’d been staring at me the whole time, trying to get my attention. As if in some sort of trance, I stepped forward, though I wasn’t instructed to, and removed her gag. She never broke eye contact with me as she answered Slynt’s question, “Because, if she’s Littlefinger’s wife, how long do you think you’ll live, once he finds out what you did to her?” 

I swallowed, my heart thumping in my chest, as I realized I was staring at the wife. Slynt, was, as always, slow to the show. “So, is she the wife? Which one of you is his wife?” If I weren’t so worried about my own involvement in the night’s activities, and therefore my own resulting life expectancy, I’d have thought it was funny watching him try to figure out just how fucked he was. 

“They both look like whores, don’t they?” He looked back at me. I had gotten the report before I transferred, and only quickly glanced at the file that had a picture of Sansa Baelish, formerly Stark, of the Stark Wolf Pack. The woman was organized crime royalty. Rumor was, the night the Clegane family took over her territory, she fought a real live wolf and won. Just a kid when she stabbed its face beyond recognition. Years later she resurfaced, head of the Upper side, Clegane missing. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she got her revenge. 

Fighter teased, “Maybe it’s date night.” She kissed the air in front of her and winked at him, as much as she could with swollen eyes. It was the first and only time my dick twitched for a battered woman. Her face might have been fucked up, but her relentless defiance was doing it for me. That, and she had great set of tits on her, bigger than the other redhead. Her whole body, thighs, ass, all bigger--fuller. My mind flashed back to Mya’s smile and I tore my eyes away from Fighter, guilt softening my cock. I looked over at the other redhead, for the first time really looking at her. Those eyes, that chin, her cheekbones, right down to her fucking smirk, was unmistakably the same as the woman in the picture who stared back at me from my desk at Brown-Swallow. 

Holy fucking shit. I knew it was severe, but recognizing who she was was just the final nail in the coffin. Slynt, clearly hadn’t paid attention to any of the pictures posted on the crime boards in captain’s office. I don’t know why I was surprised, the man only ever studied himself in the mirror. He cursed and pulled another cigarette from his pack. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll ask you both, and if you want to get back to your husband, or your crack-baby--whoever's waiting at home, you’ll answer.” 

Both women stared straight ahead, neither looking at the other, neither giving anything away. I would expect that from a wife, but not a whore. Who was she to be this loyal? More importantly, who was Littlefinger to receive such devotion from someone on the payroll? 

Slynt took a drag off his cigarette. “When is Littlefinger’s next shipment?” 

Both women stared ahead. 

He asked a few more times, offering them various levels of taunting, trying to get them to talk. 

“Which families does he work with?” Slynt paced in front of them. “Huh? Who shows up to the family bar-b-que?”

They didn’t budge. 

Slynt took a step towards Fighter, touching his hand to her cheek, painfully pressing into the swelling before he slid down her throat, over her chest and to her breast. “How about a simpler question? Where is he right now?” 

I stared straight ahead, trying to focus my eyes on the chain link rather than the way he touched her, so vulnerable to him. I wish I hadn’t had the bright idea to leave their phones behind on the desk in the office. I didn’t want to deal with them trying to call for help in the backseat. Before I knew who they were, anyway. Maybe if I had kept their phones, I could find out whatever he wanted to know, without having to question them, because neither of them were talking, loyal to the end. Which brought me to my next thought, what came next? What was his end game? So he got the answers he wanted, then what? Beating one of Littlefinger’s whores was one thing, but questioning his wife was another, even if he never touched her. He was a fool if he thought he could get away with this, even with Commissioner Baratheon on his side.  

Slynt’s hand trailed down her stomach, to the bottom of her skirt, lifting it. “Not answering? Maybe I should have a taste of what’s good enough for Littlefinger. Maybe then you’ll feel more like sharing.” To Fighter’s credit, she didn’t open her mouth. I glanced over to Sansa Baelish, she looked back at me, before her eyes went to the car. Was she telling me to get out of there? Or maybe to get in the car and run Slynt over. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. I even took a couple of subtle steps backwards, as I weighed my options. Surely, Littlefinger would spare me if I killed his wife’s attacker. Maybe she’d be so grateful she’d omit my part in it. 

Slynt shifted gears and turned to look at her. “Perhaps it’s your cunt I should be fingering? I bet you’re the whore.” He took a step towards her, smiling as he asked, “Where is he?” 

She remained silent, facing forward, completely unmoved by his threat. 

I took another couple of steps backward, thinking the plan to run him over was looking better and better. He brought his hands to her hips, pressing her back against the fence. “You don’t look like much, but you definitely fill my hands. Fuck. I’d pay for you.”

She laughed, outright. She didn’t even try to hide it. He should have known then that it was Sansa Baelish he gripped so intimately.

Slynt growled, “What the fuck is so funny?” 

“You’re dead, you just don’t know it yet.” Her tone was light, the threat--not so much. 

“Fucking bitch!” He released her, to strike her.

He had reeled back to give her a good smack, when he dropped to the ground the life leaving him before anyone heard the gunshot that ripped through the night sky. I ducked quickly, looking for the shooter. I saw none, at first, and then I followed her knowing gaze. 

Gradually, he came into the light, a man around my age, maybe a little younger, salt and pepper hair, more grey around his temples, and a goatee. He didn’t look like much, but anyone with notoriety probably doesn’t look as big their name.

Both women smiled at him as he approached. He turned quickly, seeing me and raised his gun. “Don’t,” his wife spoke. 

“Did he touch you?” Littlefinger asked as he glared at me. 

“No,” she answered. “He was a perfect gentleman.” 

Fighter scoffed beside her. Littlefinger raised an eyebrow, still not taking his eyes off of me. “Ros doesn’t seem to agree.” 

“He punched me in the belly.”

Mrs. Baelish laughed, “And you kicked him in the shin.” 

“He was taking you!”  _ Ros _ exclaimed.

Apparently deciding not to kill me, Littlefinger tucked his gun back in the holster under his arm and walked over to Slynt’s body, picking his pocket for the key. He spoke as he walked, “I am sorry, Ros. You weren’t supposed to be involved.” He reached up and uncuffed her, then gently touched a hand to her face, inspecting the damage. “That is regrettable.” 

She smiled back at him, appreciative of his notice. Sansa Baelish spoke from her bounds, not appearing in any hurry to leave them. “She needs a vacation, Petyr. Don’t you think?” 

He nodded, “Three weeks, paid. Starting tonight.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted something. “Varys is sending someone to pick you up at the end of the road.”

She took her shoes off, letting her bare feet hit to cool pavement, and she smiled back at him, “Thank you, Mr. Baelish.” 

He nodded, “Don’t fret, Ros. You will be well compensated for your trouble. We appreciate your continued loyalty.” 

She held her broken face high, too tough to wince at the grin she forced before she turned to Mrs. Baelish and tipped her head. “Thanks, Sansa.” 

Littlefinger was walking towards his wife, when she called out to Ros, “Go somewhere fun!” 

“I intend to,” the wrong redhead laughed and turned to leave, her eyes catching mine as she did. The look she gave me was not as cheery, by a long shot. I couldn’t worry about that right then, knowing that only by the grace of Mrs. Sansa Baelish was I alive. 

I thought Littlefinger would reach up and uncuff her, but he didn’t. Instead, he gripped either side of her face, and kissed her as if I wasn’t there. His nose pressed into her cheek, his head twisted to devour her lips. I would have pitied the woman his voracity if she didn’t appear to give as good as she got, her head turning under his, her moans just as needy. I looked away, to be decent, and then I looked back again. 

His hands slid up and down her exposed sides, spending extra time on her breasts, as he pulled away from their kiss. She arched into his touch and wiggled her arms to clank the handcuffs against the fence. “It’s been awhile since we used cuffs,” she purred. 

He let one hand slide up her arm, “Aren’t they a nice touch?” 

She grinned, “They’re perfect.” 

“You are,” he flirted. He actually fucking flirted. In the middle of nowhere, with a dead guy on the ground, me watching, and his wife cuffed to a fence. He was taking right then of all times to woo his woman? Seriously. I’ve seen some shit, but wow.

She writhed against him as she asked, “Did I hear you say  _ Stannis _ ?” 

Littlefinger chuckled, his hands never leaving her, “I called Stannis to find an officer with the right qualifications.” 

“Right qualifications?” She kissed his jaw when he brought his face back within reach. 

“Expendable,” he assured her. “Stannis let me use some Lieutenant he wanted out of the picture. I figured why not kill two birds with one stone? Get rid of someone for Stannis, and find the perfect person for our little game.” Littlefinger glanced over his shoulder, noting my presence, “There wasn’t supposed to be two.” 

I distinctly remember thinking the same thing earlier in the evening, about redheads. His wife asked what I wanted to, “Was it really that big of a difference for you? Neither offered much of a fight.” My thoughts came to a screeching halt when I asked myself, did he just say ‘game’? What the hell?

Littlefinger scowled. “Perhaps not. Who’s bright idea was it to leave the phones back in the office.” 

“His,” she answered, pointing at me. 

“He can’t speak for himself?” Littlefinger asked, his eyes singing me with their fire. 

She nipped at his ear, trying to get his attention. “He’s quiet.” 

He looked me up and down. “And smart.” He turned back to his wife, “It took me longer to find you because you didn’t have you phone on you.” He let his hands slide down to her hips. “If I had been here sooner, you would have remained  _ untouched. _ ” He lifted one of her thighs over his hip, grinding into her as he said, “I’m angry about that.” 

_ And Ros wasn’t? _ I couldn’t help but think it. I know she’s a working girl, but she took a beating she didn’t need to, all for what? A kinky sex game. 

His wife’s tone turned to a scold as she said, “ _ Petyr _ , we prize intelligence. Don’t hold his brains against him. I like him. I want him to work for us.”

“How much do you like him?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he turned his head to glare at me over his shoulder. 

“Enough to hire him,” she spoke reason. 

He fumed, rubbing his hand possessively over her thigh. 

Her voice grew playful, “I’m chained to a fence. Completely helpless.  _ Please Petyr _ , save me.” She used the leg that he’d lifted, to squeeze him closer to her as she added, “Or,  _ take advantage of me. _ ”

He turned to face her, and kissed her fiercely again. She moaned when he pulled his lips from her, his body still grinding against her. There was no mistaking the lust in his heady voice as he promised, “You’ll be saying ‘please Petyr’ a lot more by the time I’m done with you.” 

She giggled, noticing me over his shoulder, as he buried his face in her neck. “We have an audience, put him to work, so you can fuck me.” 

He sighed and pulled from her completely. He turned to face me and I tried not to notice the erection that tented his pants as he asked, “What’s your name?” 

I hesitated, not to be defiant or try to hide anything. It was easy enough to discover a name, there was no use in trying to protect it. My hesitation was more because I hadn’t spoken in so long, I knew it would sound like I had a frog in my throat, the mix of danger and lust, affecting me as much as it would any man. I swallowed a couple of times before I attempted to answer. “Lothor Brune.”

“Well, Lothor Brune, it seems like I have job for you.” He rooted around his pocket as he walked up to me and slapped a wad of cash in my hand. “This is to start, to show you how profitable it can be, working for me.” He pointed at Slynt’s body. “I want you to drag him over there, dig his grave and shove him in it. If you do as I ask, I’ll match what I just gave you. If you don’t, I’ll shoot you now and call someone to dig a grave big enough for the both of you.” He held up his phone, “Choose wisely, Mr. Brune. I always have someone to call.”

The amusement in his eyes was only slight, sincerity being the dominant affect. I held the money up and nodded my head, agreeing to work for Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish. I didn’t bother lying to myself about it either. This wasn’t just once to stay alive. I knew that accepting his offer, meant that I would be working for him until it was me being shoved into a grave. If I was lucky enough to be buried.

“Good.” He clasped a hand on my shoulder and added, “Shovel’s in my trunk. It’s unlocked.” 

He turned around, and was on his wife as quickly as I had begun to drag Slynt over to where my new employer bade me. His voice was gruff as he ran his hands over her again, “I love date night.” 

I could hear her grin as she answered, “Mm, me too. How much longer do we have?”

“Babysitter’s good for another couple hours.” His hands ran down her ribs. 

Fuck, Slynt was heavy. I finally set him where I was meant to and walked over to Littlefinger’s car, trying not to look up. As I lifted the door to the trunk, I snuck a peek under my arm. His face was buried in her neck, his hands up her thighs, reaching high under her skirt as he growled, “ _ Say it again _ .”

I felt my blood pump, balls tighten, and cock harden. I reached around in the trunk for the shovel, too entranced in the show to tear my eyes away from it. She moaned, “ _ Please, Petyr _ .” 

There was a loud rip, and I saw his arms flex from under her skirt. One hand came back holding what I could only imagine was her underwear, and dropped it on the ground. His voice was barely audible into her neck, “That’s it,  _ beg _ for it. Maybe then I’ll let you go when I’m done with you.” 

She laughed, “You’ll never let me go.” 

His response was savage, no words, just one hard thrust up into her. I heard the loud slap of his skin against hers, even from all the way by the car. She whimpered and groaned under the force of it, trying to catch her breath, surrendering to him. If it weren’t the fucking Baelishes themselves, I might have had the courage to whip my dick out and ease the tension in it. 

His voice commanding, “ _ Beg,” _ dashed any hope I might have had of relief. I grabbed the shovel and shut the trunk, telling myself to stop looking, even when I heard her pant, “ _ Fuck. Please. Yes. Petyr. Jesus, please! Fuck me! _ ”  

I broke the ground, and threw a couple of shovel fulls of dirt to the side before I gave in and glanced back. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, as I had pictured them around mine, her arms still cuffed above her head. His fingers gripped the chain link to either side as he plowed into her. Their moaning and panting, and the rhythmic sound of the links in the fence hitting each time he drove her back into it with a hard thrust, was the soundtrack to which I buried my old boss. 

I adjusted the bulge in my pants, determined to make it go down, and dug more dirt. The wad of cash in my pocket, larger than an hour before, only promised to grow larger still. If this was my new life, fighting boners and burying bodies, at least it paid well.  

  
  


 


	17. Job Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis' POV -- takes place mostly after Part 5...but not quite. It's a scene off to the side that won't be included in Part 5 and happens in between the very last chapter and the one before it.

Gregor ‘The Mountain’ Clegane sat with his legs spread on the shitty rebar bench, set in concrete. There would be no lifting it, no throwing, or bashing with it. The concrete was poured around it with the thought of men like him. Thank the devil for that. Commissioner Stannis Baratheon adjusted his tie, more so he could take a deep breath. Though, for appearances sake, it was to straighten his attire. 

They said the man raped a woman to death and killed her children as well, all under the Lannister order. Bullshit. Had to be. Stannis had known Jaime Lannister. He was a cocky shit, dead set against anyone blessed with the name Baratheon. That didn’t mean he would condone such carnage on an innocent woman and her children. 

If only Jaime was the only Lannister with authority. What might have Cersei done if she felt threatened by someone else? Stannis closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory of burning flesh and bloodshed. Tyrion was no innocent, either. He was the family mastermind, though often dismissed for making too much sense. What underhanded deals had the little man gotten up to? If the charges were true, the fact that Gregor Clegane was up for parole at all, said the little man had worked quite a bit of his magic. 

Stannis watched The Mountain crack his knuckles before guiding a much younger--meeker man to his knees before him. “That will be enough,” Stannis called over his shoulder to one of the guards, stopping the act of dominance before it got too far. “Bring him in.” 

It took less than ten minutes, though it might as well have been double that. Stannis tried not to pace, reminding himself that his position alone allowed him the upper hand. The door swung open and Clegane had to shuffle sideways to get through the archway. The shackles he wore, that every prisoner wore, looked like a child’s set of toy cuffs, compared to the thick wrists and bulging muscles in his forearms. Tattoos of all variety covered him from knuckle to neck, and Stannis was sure that should he fast forward through some of the surveillance footage, he’d see even more tattoos on Clegane’s giant body. What they all meant, Stannis didn’t know, and a part of him wished he’d never find out.

“Do you know who I am?” Stannis asked, and it was a fair question. Gregor Clegane was not known for either his intelligence or a sense of awareness for anything outside of what was tangibly in front of him.

The Mountain nodded once, and so strained was the folding chair under his weight, even the slight movement of his neck had the metal creaking a protest. Stannis made a mental note to switch out the old-school folding chairs for the much safer plastic ones. He eyed Clegane again and then changed his mind; he wasn’t sure the plastic would hold him. A man could die being beaten to death by a metal chair, but he could just as easily die if he were stabbed with sharded plastic from a broken lawn chair.

“Good,” Stannis crossed his arms over his chest and then immediately uncrossed them. It was a defensive posture, and he wasn’t going to give the convict that, regardless of what his thoughts were seconds before. “You’re slotted to get out in just a couple days.” 

The Mountain blinked. 

Stannis sighed, “The city has changed a lot since you were a free man. What have you heard?” 

Clegane did not respond, simply stared back at Stannis as if he was thinking of snapping a limb off and eating it. 

Stannis wondered if years of a broken system and a mafia lifestyle created the monster that sat before him, or if this was some genetic thing that could never be corrected. “Right. Well, this may or may not be review for you. But, the Lannisters are extinct. All gone now.” He glanced over at the camera in the corner, disconnected for his special meeting, he was sure of it. Though, just to be prudent, he added, “Organized crime is not something that wealthy families like the  _ Baelishes _ , support in this city.”

Clegane’s chest rose as he inhaled slowly. His expression did not change, set in stone. 

“That’s right: Baelish _ es _ . Littlefinger’s got a wife now. And some children. I’m sure you knew that though, seeing as how she has such _ influence _ in the northern part of the city, the part your brother had previously.” Stannis spoke carefully, not wanting to say anything specific in such a monitored space. He hoped Clegane was able to get enough neurons firing to understand his meaning. 

A low growl emitted from across the table, and Stannis knew he’d gotten the message. He cleared his throat. “Organized crime does not exist in this city, hasn’t for  _ many _ years.” 

Clegane scoffed at that, his rage simmering before it could catch a boil. 

Stannis continued undeterred, “So it would be unfortunate for you to get any  _ outdated _ ideas in your head about what your activities should be when you discharge from this facility.”

Meeting the deadpan-stare that had barely changed since the lumbering man squeezed through the door, Stannis slid a manilla folder towards his side of the table. “Mr. Baelish believes in rehabilitation. He values individuals for their  _ strengths _ and would like to offer you employment. Your first task will be to relieve this man of his duty.” 

The metal chair creaked as Clegane leaned forward, sliding the folder closer and opening it. Stannis glanced away, eyeing the line between sharp and blurry, a marred metal tabletop focused close against the soft background of grungy tile flooring. Stannis didn’t want to see the picture in the folder, didn’t want to know. It wasn’t hard for him to accept it from Varys and tuck it in his briefcase without looking, nor was it difficult to clutch it to himself as he waited for Clegane, never once opening it. The man in that folder was going to die--if Clegane valued his own life. 

Stannis had learned long ago, not to notice such things. He would spend too much time watching the news, waiting for a body to turn up that never did. Too many nights, he’d woken up with an image in his head of various men that wouldn’t be seen again. It was like this with the Baelishes, the Lannisters and Tyrells before them, the Cleganes, the Starks and the Arryns.  _ I’m getting too old for this shit _ , Stannis thought to himself. 

He let his hand drop down to the bulge of his wallet in his pocket. She was in there. Shireen. He didn’t need to pull the picture out to see it; he’d studied it a thousand times. It gave him strength both before and after he’d done something less-than-savory for her sake. Each surgery she had, extended her life, and each one after that until they’d been living “just a little longer,” for at least nine years now. He was tired, and knew she was too, but he couldn’t give up, and wouldn’t dare let her. 

Stannis took the cash, and handed over the files he never opened. Each day, instead of singing the words to “Cheeseburger in Paradise” while he brushed his teeth, as he was wont to do in the days before Shireen, he rehearsed his public repudiation. “There is no organized crime in this city. There hasn’t been for many years. Certainly, not since I’ve come to office. It’s well established that I have zero tolerance towards this particular issue.” 

Clegane closed the folder and shoved it back towards Stannis. His voice was deep and rumbling as he asked, “We done?” 

Stannis rose from his seat, waving the guards in. “Mr. Baelish respects how important family is, and therefore sends his condolences about your brother. He also knows how integral employment is to an ex-convict’s successful reintegration into the community, and would like you to please consider the opportunity he’s offering.”

When Clegane stood up, the guards on either arm were so dwarfed that it looked almost comical, the tops of their heads not surpassing his chest. Stannis knew that Varys would want to know if Clegane was going to play ball or not. The Mountain’s stoic nature and overall murderous presentation hid away any response Stannis could have gleaned from their conversation. 

Clegane was halfway down the hall when he stopped and asked, “What about a car?” 

Stannis stepped forward quickly, his shoes squeaking on the tile as he asked, “Excuse me?” 

Clegane turned his head and said, “I’m going to need wheels when I’m out. If I’m to work.” 

“Of course,” Stannis nodded, taking the liberty to assume Baelish would approve. “So, you accept?” 

Clegane cracked his neck, his arms flexing as he did before he answered simply, “My brother was a cunt.”

 

 

 


	18. Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was generated from a prompt on Tumblr -- this takes place between parts 4 and 5, is in Petyr's POV and it's his 40th Birthday!!!

“You’re sulking.”  

Petyr furrowed his brows in consternation. “I don’t sulk.” 

He would be annoyed by the soft chuckle response, if it had been from anyone other than Sansa. She was sitting on the edge of their bed, her flaming red hair swept up in a clip that resembled one of the many cheap plastic ones with teeth Miss Alerie used in her hair salon when Petyr was a kid. He remembered them so clearly in all their vibrant colors and spring-loaded tension because he and Miss Alerie’s natural son Garlan, would challenge each other to see how long they could keep one clipped to their dicks, teeth biting into their little shafts. They had challenged each other a dozen times, and Petyr usually held out the longest, though it never truly felt like any sort of victory. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about turning forty,” Sansa rolled her eyes dramatically.  _ Playfully _ . It was much like the way Miss Alerie did when she was talking to all the ladies in her chair, styling their hair with her belly laughs and coffee stained teeth. Why was he thinking of her, after all these years? He couldn’t have been much older than six or seven when he was placed with her, and he wasn’t sure for how long, either. It was one of the few foster homes he could remember feeling comfortable, though.

Petyr dug for a mint in his pocket and popped it in his mouth before he pulled the drawer open to Sansa’s nightstand. “That’s because you’re _ twenty-six _ ,” he practically spat his answer out. 

She slid her hand over his, stopping him from pulling the tube of rain scented lotion out, and looked up at him. “Since when has my being younger than you, been such a bad thing?”

His hand gripped the tube of lotion tighter, and he removed it from the drawer, fighting the mild resistance she gave. “You have your whole life ahead of you.” 

Sansa blinked at him, incredulous at his words. “And you don’t?”

Petyr’s eyebrows drew further together, his teeth crunching the mint in his mouth as he snapped open the cap to the lotion. He squirted some in his hand, watching her through his periphery, unwilling to give her dumbfounded gaze his direct eye contact. He tossed the lotion on the bed beside her, rubbing his hands together before crouching down to catch her calf. Her hand came to his shoulder, stopping him. 

He shrugged it off, and set to work rubbing the lotion on her leg. Her voice was firm as she said, “Petyr, look at me.” He didn’t. “Stop.” He wouldn’t. 

Both hands slid over his shoulders to his neck, one catching his chin to lift it. “Hey, look at me.” 

Petyr sighed, and scowled at her. He didn’t know why he was so mad at her, it didn’t make sense. She only meant to support him, but for whatever reason, he got to thinking of Miss Alerie, and he couldn't think of her without thinking of how he lost her. The woman had walked in on Petyr and Garlan with their pants around their ankles, hairclips pinching their pricks, and she called social services to remove him that very same day. At the age of six he’d been cast out of the only home that had offered three square meals a day and a shower every other day, deemed a sexual deviant. As if he took any pleasure from it at all--it had always been Garlan’s idea to play anyway.

“You’re  _ only _ forty. You have a beautiful daughter asleep in the other room that you will live to see grow up, graduate, get married, and have children of her own.” Sansa threaded the fingers she’d rested on the back of his head, through his hair, craning him to look up at her. “If you do not live to see all those things, it will not be because of your age.” 

His lips pursed at the idea that he would ever be bested by a business associate. She brought her other hand to his cheek, and held it as she closed her eyes. “I mean no offense, only to realize the very real hazards of our work.” 

She was being sensible, and as much as it injured his ego, he adored her for it. He’d already forgiven her the trespass when she ran her thumb over his lips, and stroked his goatee, ever so slightly.

His eyelids grew heavy under the affection, and his hands moved of their own volition, massaging the lotion into her leg by touch instead of sight. Her voice softened as she added, “Besides,  _ Mr. Baelish _ , you agreed to help make another _ Baby Baelish _ with me, and I would be very cross with you, if you decided you were too old to father another one of my children.” 

His eyes snapped open, and his nostrils flared. Something about the implication in her words that she could simply get another baby anywhere else infuriated him. His jaw tightened at the same time his grip did. “You’ll only bear  _ my _ children.”

“What?” Her face scrunched in confusion, eyes staring off in a distance as her lips moved to retrace her steps in the conversation. Realization hit, and she laughed before leaning forward and nipping his bottom lip. “I’ll have who’s ever children I want.” 

His chest tightened and his arms flexed in instant rage. Completely unfazed by his ire, as only Sansa Baelish could be, she ran her tongue over the injured lip and added, “Good thing, I only want yours.” 

The air returned to his lungs. “You’re being terrible,” Petyr relaxed his grip, returning to his massage as he slowly coaxed all the muscles in his body to ease. 

Sansa slid the hand holding his face down over his throat, lowering to his chest. “Yes. Whatever you need me to be.” 

“And I need you to be terrible to me?” Petyr asked, feeling her hand move to cover his. 

She tugged at his fingers on her leg. “My husband doesn’t sulk, especially over a meaningless number.” 

Why was she so insistent on denying him their nighttime routine? For years, she’d allowed him to rub lotion over her legs before they crawled naked in bed to cuddle, and possibly fuck themselves to sleep. However, on his fortieth birthday of all times, she decided to stop him? He raised an eyebrow at her out of character denial. 

Sansa smiled and gestured towards the closed door of the master bathroom. “I have a surprise for you.” 

He felt his dimples start to show. Petyr loved surprises, and Sansa was the only person on the planet that could surprise him successfully. Okay, that wasn’t true. Varys was highly skilled in this area, but he lacked the brass that Sansa did to actually attempt it. Sansa didn’t fear Petyr’s possible retaliation like Varys did. Rightfully so, too. 

He stood up, not liking how slowly his joints demanded him to, either. Sansa hopped off the bed, and bounded to the bathroom door, her little periwinkle robe rising with the motion. Fuck, she was delicious. Petyr took a breath to refocus himself and followed her. “Close your eyes!” She demanded. 

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have guessed what she had done for him; not many surprises were typically kept in a bathroom. Nevertheless, it still made him smile when he saw their huge tub filled with hot water and bubbles, candles and rose petals surrounding it, a bottle of cognac off to the side. He squinted, peering closer to read the label. It was the special reserve that Varys rationed out to him on occasion, brandishing what little power he had in their relationship, under the pretense of being “helpful.” 

“Do you like it?” She asked, taking a step forward to press herself against him. 

Petyr wrapped his arms around her and smiled, “Of course.” He leaned in for a kiss, knowing he wanted it to lead to more, but still feeling the fuzzy effects of a memory long past.

When she pulled away, he reached for the button on his shirt, only to feel the smarting sting of her palms against his fingers. “No!” 

He wanted to be curious, but he simply felt too tired--too  _ old _ . He couldn’t stop the impatient sigh that escaped him as she turned away from him, bending over the tub. “Sansa.”

She stood back up, and handed him a glass. “Here.” He took the glass from her, unable to resist the heady aroma of the drink that brought him to such gluttony. So focused on the swish in his mouth, he hadn’t noticed Sansa’s fingers unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled the starched dress fabric from his pants and whispered, “Let me undress you.” 

He took another sip, not stopping her. She pulled the sleeve from him and carefully gathered the material up as she moved around him. He switched his drink to the other hand, as she pulled the remaining sleeve free from him, setting it carefully on the laundry basket against the wall. Her smile was warm--friendly even, as she lowered herself to the tile floor. How odd. Typically a smile given during various stages of undress, was more lusty in nature than simply  _ kind _ .  Sansa tapped one of his feet, silently telling him to lift it. He did, awkwardly balancing on one leg as she pulled the shoe off, doing the same for the next one. Her hands moved to peel his socks off, and Petyr began to feel the effects of the cognac, slightly lightheaded when shifting his weight. He tugged the white cotton undershirt he wore off over his head, to her gentle reproach. “Tsk, tsk. _ I’m _ undressing you.” 

“Oh, right.” He snickered, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable he was growing. He’d never been undressed before, not since he was a kid. Sure, women dove into his pants and yanked his dick out, or ripped his shirt open only to abandon it at the elbows. They’d never bothered to remove his shoes, or carefully guide each little button back through it’s hole, freeing inches of his flesh at a time. Sansa’s hands moved to his belt and he took a breath. He knew this. This was comfortable. She would jerk it open with force as she bit his chin and demanded his hard cock.

Except that she didn’t. 

Not this time. 

She kept her eyes on the buckle, working it carefully, taking the time to remove the belt from each pant loop before folding it over on itself twice and dropping it on top of the discarded dress shirt. Her hands reached for his fly, somehow avoiding his manhood, as if on purpose. It was when she gripped the waistband and slid the pants down past his thighs, actually looking away from the bulging cotton in front of her, that he had a memory of kinky black hair and sandalwood eyes flash in front of him.  _ Chataya _ . She was the only other foster mother he ever felt safe with, for the seven months he knew her, anyway. 

On his first night at Chataya’s she’d undressed him, uncovering his small pubescent body at a painstakingly slow rate. He remembered standing there awkwardly, praying he didn’t catch a semi looking at her voluptuous and scantily clad figure. He stared at the faint wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, willing his body not to respond to the tenderness she’d shown him. As an adult now, he understood the woman’s motives for examining him so closely upon his arrival. Her thick voice had explained at the time as well, though he hadn’t fully comprehended. “Not much meat grows on these bones, perhaps God has sent you to us to protect my beauties in other ways.” 

Sansa reached for Petyr’s boxer-briefs, keeping her hands to the outsides of his legs as she lowered it to pool with his pants. He took another sip of his drink and stepped out of the material, remembering the way Chataya spoke to him, “Don’t flinch, child. Nudity is not a vulnerability. In my house, it is a strength.”

“Alayaya! Come. Bring your new brother his new clothes,” Chataya called out of the bathroom. 

A young girl, the spitting image of Chataya emerged with some clothes folded in her arms. He blinked, seeing Sansa slowly untie her robe and shrug out of it. Chataya’s words echoed in his head, “Every member of this family, earns their keep. Some do it on their backs. Some do it with their fists. You, Petyr, will earn your place at our table with your brain. I can see it in your green eyes.”

She was quite possibly the only woman Petyr’d encountered in his youth that didn’t underestimate his potential, and he’d never felt so encouraged in his life. He blinked, taking in the sight of Sansa standing in the center of the tub, her arm extended in invitation. The woman before him, the woman he’d decided to devote his life to, was so vastly different from the overly religious madam who took in foster kids to work the menial jobs in her little whorehouse. Yet somehow, both had undressed him with the same care, offered him something cleaner--better. Both had seen potential in him that no one had before, certainly not his biological mother, who abandoned him for the NICU nurses to love. 

He allowed Sansa to guide him in the bathtub, to pull him between her parted legs. He relished the feel of her soft breasts and belly at his back, her womanhood pressed against his lower back. He set his empty glass on the side of the tub, and she refilled it. “You’re a million miles away.” 

Petyr let his head fall back against her shoulder and closed his eyes to the memory of the cops busting into Chataya’s with their guns and badges. He inhaled to settle his stomach over the vivid recollection of the pimply-faced social services worker who loaded him and six others into the van for the state-funded adolescent group home that he’d landed in a few times before. He tried to forget Alayaya’s cry to her handcuffed mother as he watched flashing blue lights break their home. “I am.” 

“Stay with me,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t leave me in this life without you.” 

He smiled, staring at the back of his eyelids, which were oddly comforting paired with the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice. “Never.”

Her lips moved against his temple, curved into a smile. “Liar.” 

“Yes,” he didn’t hesitate to answer. He was a liar, always had been, and appreciated that it never prevented him from winning her affection.

“Where are you?” Sansa brought her fingers to his hair, gently teasing the line of this scalp. 

Petyr opened his eyes and took another sip. “Remembering past birthdays.” 

“Recent ones? Or  _ older _ ones?” Sansa cut to the heart of the matter, as she had a talent of doing whenever it was inconvenient for him. 

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough for her. Her voice lowered, asking gently, “Are you thinking of her?” 

He didn’t have to guess who ‘her’ was, as Sansa knew whenever he was feeling so morose, it usually involved his mother’s failings. “How can you think of someone you’ve never met before?” The best defense to such a personal question that hit the nail on the head, was to meet it with another question, one that they couldn’t possibly relate to.  

Both fortunately, and unfortunately for Petyr, his young wife seemed immune to his machinations. “So, then, meet her. Or, at least, find out about her.” 

“The records were sealed the day I was released into state custody,” Petyr dismissed her. 

Sansa reached for a folded up wash cloth and dipped it in the water. “You’re Littlefinger. No one stays hidden from you for long.” 

Petyr smiled as she lifted the wash cloth out of the water and squeezed it over his chest, soapy suds running over his scar. She continued to speak as she brought the cloth to his shoulders, “If you don’t want to, that’s one thing. But, don’t act like you couldn’t know her if you desired it.” 

He didn’t respond, unsure how to. After a couple of minutes of washing his shoulders and chest, Sansa asked, “I’m here for you, regardless.” 

Petyr caught her wrist and kissed the back of her hand quickly before releasing it. “I know.” 

A couple more minutes passed with her reaching the cloth over his abdomen, before he shook his head and said, “You’re the only mother I’m interested in dealing with.” 

He could hear the smile in her voice as she washed his knees and thighs. “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t mind that one bit.” 

“Good.” He took another sip. 

“Know why?” She teased, ringing the cloth out. 

He swallowed, “Tell me.” 

Her grip on him tightened, her voice more intense as she explained, “What do you need a mother for? To take care of you?” 

Petyr stared at the bubbles in the water, waiting to see where she was going with this. 

“You don’t need your mother for that.  _ I _ take care of you.” Sansa nuzzled into the side of face, giving him light kisses. “I always take care of my man.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the washcloth reach between his legs, her hand gripping his cock through the terry cloth material that offered an added touch of friction. She worked her hand up and down his rapidly swelling shaft, her other palm flat on his chest locked him in place against her. His hand shook as he tried to focus enough to set his drink down, finding her pouty lips sucking his earlobe to be quite the distraction.

He shivered involuntarily as she grazed the washcloth over his tip, so responsive. Her voice was hot and breathy in his ear, “Let me take care of you, Petyr.”

It was a plea. A directive. A promise. Everything he ever needed. 

He turned quickly, landing his lips on hers. Her hold was firm, refusing to release the throbbing rod between his legs. She tasted of cognac too, and he wondered if she’d been sipping her glass the entire time as well? If she had been, he’d of never known, feeling her lips resting so intimately against his ear the whole time. Perhaps she hadn’t and his own senses were just so overwhelmed with need that he’d become confused as to where her tongue ended and his began. 

She moaned into his mouth, letting him overtake her, and he used that moment of surrender to pull her into his lap. Sansa had lost the wash cloth, but kept her hands on him, avidly attending to his ache. He kissed down her neck, settling his lips on her collarbone, when he opened his eyes and noticed the edge of the tub. 

He brought a hand over to the shelf in the wall and pressed the whirlpool option, turning all the jets on. The hot water bubbled around them as he turned her around in his lap. She gave a confused look, but didn’t protest, allowing him to guide her. 

Petyr let his cock, slick with soapy water, nestle in between the rounds of her ass, sliding up and down as his hands cupped her breasts. He kissed her shoulder blade. “I want you to come.” 

“It’s your birthday,” she chuckled. 

“Yes, and I want to feel you come around my cock.” Petyr locked an arm around her belly and scooted them forward. 

“Where are we going?” Sansa smiled over her shoulder. 

Petyr nudged her ahead of him, “Lean over the side of the tub, in front of the jets.” 

Sansa smiled a little in surprise. “Excuse me?” 

He took himself in his hand. “You heard me. Let the water hit your clit.” 

She sat up on her knees, and went to the side of the tub, smiling at the scandalous nature of his words. Petyr tugged at himself, watching her giggle and flinch a little when she found the jet stream. She went to move away but brought herself back to it, taking shorter and short breaks, until he couldn’t help but notice her movements were more targeted. “Does that feel good?” 

“Yeeah,” Her eyes were closed, focused. 

He pressed the next speed and listened to her breathing hitch at the increased stimulation. He tightened his grip on himself, offering more pressure as his other hand reached under the water, between her legs to tease at her entrance. He meant for it to be a slow massage, but at the sight of his arm under the water, connecting where her legs separated, and the sound of her whimper, “ _ God, _ ” he couldn’t help but increase the vigor with which his fingers fucked her.

Her hips started to rock, so quickly accustomed to the water pressure, the muscles in her back tensed. He rose, jerking himself faster than he meant to as he approached her. He pulled her cheeks apart and was buried inside her within seconds, resting his forehead against her back as he thrust up into her. Sansa’s sharp inhale at his entry quickly turned to a low whine, when his pumping brought her closer and closer to the jet. “ _ Fuck, Petyr _ .” 

Each time he rammed into her, she tilted forward and the powerful jet stream that massaged her slit would hit his tight balls, offering a slight tickle that only encouraged his eventual orgasm. His hands gripped the lip of the tub to either side of hers, as he pushed deeper and deeper into her, commanding, “ _ Come _ .” 

“I’m so close!” She promised him, her lip quivering, on the verge of tears, trapped between the steady whir of the jet stream assaulting her nub and the rhythmic invasion of his cock, stretching her insides. 

He kissed her shoulder, “I need it.” 

She nodded her head, writhing between him and the tub, “I know. I’m gonna!” 

He looked up at the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the bathroom, watching them together. His darker, seasoned skin laid against her soft ivory flesh, cheeks reddened with her exertion. Ample breasts hung over the side of the tub, their hardened nipples only accentuated the lewdity of the picture. She didn’t notice him watching, her head turned up to the ceiling, needing a release. Petyr gazed at the fire in his own eyes, wide open and staring back at him. This was what he needed: a woman who would hold him with her arms when he was melancholy, and with her cunt when he was wanting. 

“Yeah?” He asked nipping at her, thrusting harder. He may have just turned forty and had more grey hair and wrinkles than he’d like to admit, but he was sure as hell still capable of bringing her supple body to collapse. It was both to tease her, and to decide her genuineness when he whispered, “Are you gonna take care of me?” 

She nodded again, her eyes clenched shut as she reached behind to grab a handful of his ass and hold it to her. “ _ Yes. _ ”

If she was so determined to meet his needs, than so too would he meet hers. He drove his forehead into her back, clenching his teeth, feeling himself so close within her as he demanded, “Say it!” 

“I’ll always take care of you, Petyr!” She exclaimed, following it up with, “I’m gonna come for you. I’m gonna feel so good for you!” Her words kept breaking, “I’m gonna--I’m  _ gonna _ \--”

He felt her still, and shot his hand out to the side of the tub, pressing the highest speed of jet. She yelped and convulsed under him, desperately gasping and grabbing at anything she could for leverage. So close to his own edge, her sudden reaction, pushed him over it, and harder into her. Water sloshed all around them, putting out some candles and pooling on the floor. He didn’t-- _ couldn’t _ care. Her hair was a wild untamed mess, the cock-pinching clip from his youth dangling off to the side, bouncing and bobbing with each ram into the hungry pussy that kept taking wave after wave of his cum. 

She had calmed before him, a euphoric smile spread across her lips as she rested her head on her arms, through his last couple of thrusts. When he was done, he held her tightly to him, feeling the high pressure jet beading on his arm. With his free hand, he reached up and took the clip from her hair, dropping it on the floor.

“Hey, what did you do that for?” Sansa’s attempt at irritation was undermined by the grin dipped in bliss that she couldn’t hide even if she bothered to try. 

He thought about explaining, but then decided not to bother. Miss Alerie’s house was one of the few memories he had that he’d considered a good one, and knew that saying it aloud would only highlight how broken even that one was. Sansa didn’t need that, she had her own bittersweet memories of adolescence. He ran his fingers over her hair and said simply, “Your hair is beautiful, and even more stunning when it's down.” 

The way she eyed him, told him she knew there was more to things, but she didn’t push. “Thank you, Petyr.” 

With a quick kiss on his forehead, she rose and stepped out of the tub for Petyr to watch her naked ass, slick with soapy water, travel across the bathroom to retrieve a towel. He slowly stood, his knees crying out in agony over the length of time he’d knelt at the side of the tub, fucking his gorgeous wife good and proper. He could feel his dimples flaring as he remembered the way he’d pleasured her with cock and jet and thought to himself,  _ Worth it. _

Sansa held a towel out to him, as he’d seen her do for Elenei a thousand times, and he stepped into it, letting her work the material to dry him off. She rubbed the towel over his chest before leaning down and kissing his scar. Her eyes were soft, and her words warm as she said, “Happy birthday.”

 


	19. Weekend At The Baelishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generated from a prompt on Tumblr. Petyr's POV -- takes place well after part 5, and not long after the House Party tidbit

She was completely closed off, her body rigid, and her tone biting. Crossed arms and pursed lips fortified her defenses as she paced back and forth by Petyr’s desk, affording him a better opportunity to see her angst. At forty-five years old, Sansa Baelish was keeping herself up. Her hair was a lighter shade of red then when he’d met her twenty-four years ago, part of the fading process her stylist had sold her on, to gracefully accept the stray strands of grey that had started appearing some eight years prior. Her forehead held faint wrinkles that their children were responsible for, though he knew he played a part in their creation as well.

Even though she was walking on carpet, her steps were so determined, that he could hear her heels clicking on it. Petyr poured them both a drink from the decanter in his office, and held one up to her.

Sansa scoffed, “Oh great, let’s give it fetal alcohol syndrome as well!”

“You were snorting coke when we made Elenei, and she’s fine.” He took a sip, then smirked playfully, “If short-tempered at times.”

“She is not!” Sansa defended quickly.

Petyr nudged the drink up to her lips as he smiled, “What was it Durran called her one time? _Scarface_?”

Sansa shook her head and the drink away. “That’s not fair. It was her first time with an automatic weapon, and he had gone in her bedroom. That’s a serious violation for a teenage girl. Of course, she flew off the handle a little. That had nothing to do with--”

“How high we were when she was conceived. I know.” Petyr set their drinks down and put an arm around her. “Look, if--and that’s a big if, you’re pregnant, we will manage.”

Sansa relaxed into his embrace. “That weekend was a bad idea.”

 ----

_Petyr approached his seventeen year old son, the perfect mirror image of Sansa in male form, slouched on their couch with the ever loyal Nolla laying beside him. “If Mum catches you letting her on the couch, you’re in trouble.”_

_Durran shook his head, “No, Mum’s in the pool doing her laps. I’ve got another twenty minutes before I have to kick her off.”_

_Petyr smirked, appreciating his son’s thinking. “You have less. I need you to stay with Auntie Aerie for the weekend. Gunar already asked for you.”_

_"What? Why?” Durran furrowed his brow, muting the TV._

_Petyr took off his blazer and set it on the back of the couch. “Because, my son, after the shit you pulled with that house party, you’re going to do whatever I say for quite a while.”_

_"I thought you were proud of me?” Durran leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I mean, you gave me a car and everything…”_

_Petyr nodded. “Yes. I was--am. That doesn’t take away from the fact that you still threw a house party, and allowed a situation where Mum and I had to buy a bunch of low-grade, completely shit drugs to keep the peace. You’re my little bitch for the time being.”_

_"Fuck,” Durran sighed and rubbed his hand over his face._

_"That’s the goal, yes.” Petyr glanced up through the sliding glass windows to the pool and the woman swimming past._

_“What?” Durran looked up. He must have recognized the wanton look on Petyr’s face as he stared through the glass. “Oh, gross. You want me gone so you can bang Mum! Don’t you have a bedroom for that shit?”_

_Petyr pulled his tie loose, not bothering to hide the naughty grin on his face. “Little Bitch, Durran. Remember?”_

_Durran groaned and stood up, “Nolla, come!”_

_The dog jumped off the couch to follow Durran as he skulked off. “Son,” Petyr called behind him, as he watched Sansa lap the pool again. He could hear his son’s footsteps stop. “Keep Nolla out of the bar. It gets rowdy in there, and you know how protective she gets.”_

_"I’m seventeen, Dad. I don’t go in the bar,” Durran asserted._

_“Sure,” Petyr looked back at him, dimples flaring._

 ----

“Hey, that was _my_ idea,” Petyr kissed her temple, and rubbed her back.

Sansa sighed deeply, “I know, and it was fun and everything. It’s just… It’s just, if this was the price to pay, was it worth it?”

“Yes. We worked hard for some time to ourselves, alone and in our house.” Petyr squeezed her tighter in his arms, unwilling to let her regret their time together.

 ----

_Just as Petyr started walking towards the patio, unbuttoning his top button as he did, he heard boots clomping across the marble behind him and a familiar voice call out, “Mum!”_

_No, no, no, no! Damn it! Petyr groaned as he turned around quickly to see Elenei standing there with black eyeliner streams down her cheeks. “Princess.”_

_“Hey, Daddy. Where’s Mum?” She sniffled._

_“Busy at the moment.” He hoped that Sansa being unavailable would be a deterrent._

_“Oh. Okay.” Elenei plopped down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. “I’ll wait. I just really need her right now.”_

_“Do you?” He challenged her._

_“What?” She scrunched her face in disgust that he would even ask. “Of course I do. She’s my mum and my heart is broken.”_

_Again? Petyr stopped himself from asking. “It has been before.”_

_“What are you saying?” She wiped at her tears, as she scowled at him, smearing the black ink on her cheeks._

_Petyr shrugged, “I don’t mean anything by it, princess. Just that you’re twenty-one, and have been through this sort of thing before. I’m sure by now, you’ve found a way to cope...independently.”_

_Elenei bristled, her lips pursing, much like her mother’s when she was mad. “Why would you say that?”_

_He glanced back to Sansa lifting her arm up in the model breast-stroke, and then looked at Elenei. His daughter was not ‘heartbroken,’ she was disappointed, and took a shot to her ego. “Do you have any friends?”_

_“What? Of course!” She got up off the couch, anger flaming her eyes._

_Petyr leaned forward to grip her arms and offer a warm smile. “Good. Perhaps you should have a girl’s night or something. I’m told it’s the best way to get over a man.”_

_“I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Elenei cocked her head, eyes examining him._

_Petyr ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m going to level with you, because you’re an adult. I need some time with your mom.”_

_“For what?” Elenei blinked back, incredulously._

_Petyr stared at her, hoping his bright daughter would connect the dots._

_Very slowly, she started to comprehend. “Oh yuck! Do you have to?”_

_He chuckled, “Yes.” Petyr reached forward and kissed his daughter’s forehead. “Daddy’s horny, princess.”_

_“Ugh!” Elenei shuddered. “I’m out of here, you two are so gross! Don’t you have a bedroom?”_

_“And a house,” Petyr turned her around, and walked with her towards the door. “A house, that we have not had the pleasure of exploring since before you could walk.”_

_Elenei twisted her face in revulsion. “I didn’t think you still could.”_

_Petyr bristled at that. “Goodbye. Have fun with your friends.”_

 ----

Sansa shook her head. “It was awfully lucky that the kids were away at the same time. I saw on Elenei’s profile that her and that idiot broke up, I was certain she was going to be home. I even picked up that ice cream she likes with the peanut butter. Remember when she was little and used to like the one with the marshmallows?”

Elenei never liked the one with the marshmallows, but Durran did. Petyr sighed and nodded in response, not interested in disillusioning her. “I am a very lucky man.”

“Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I’d call this right now. Lucky.” Sansa tried to pull from him, but his grip was insistent. She groaned, “Why did I let you?”

“Because it felt good, and you wanted to,” Petyr replied easily.

 ----

_He stood at the edge of the pool and popped the small pill he’d been carrying around in his pocket, as he watched his wife swim towards him, her ass teasing the waterline with it’s constant shimmy. She must have caught glimpse of him, cause she swerved towards the ladder, climbing out. “You’re home,” she said, chlorinated water dripping from her. She wore a white one piece swimsuit with a gold accent zipper down the middle that did little to detract from her voluptuousness._

_He missed the days when she wore a skimpy string bikini that fell off by the tug of a string. It was before wrinkles, stretchmarks, and babies. If he were being honest, it was the wrinkles that brought that time to a close, really. Sansa was always proud of her body, and at his urging, allowed her dressing to err on the side of less, regardless of her silvered stretchmarks and prominent cesarian scar. Those marks were important, and only added to her appeal. He smiled to himself as he claimed them, stating time and time again that in one way or another, he put them there, and was proud of them. She should be too._

_His hand rose to the zipper of her suit, “I am.”_

_“What are you doing? Durran’s home!” Sansa swatted at his hand._

_Petyr shook his head, “No, he’s not.” Before she could respond, he pulled it as far down as it would go, to her navel, and felt his dick tingle in arousal, as her breasts spilled out. “In fact, we have our home all to ourselves, all weekend.”_

_Sansa wet her lips, and let one hand travel down his chest to his belt buckle. “The whole weekend? How did you manage that?”_

_“Lucked out.” Petyr could appreciate the importance of subtly from time to time. He reached for the straps of her bathing suit on her shoulders and pulled them down, bringing the garment to her waist. “We won’t be needing this anymore.”_

_“We won’t?” Sansa grinned, her own hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Will we be needing this, then?”_

_“Not at all,” Petyr leaned in, and closed his eyes before capturing her mouth._

_She startled out of their kiss as he moved her towards one of the patio chairs. “Oh!” She giggled at the motion. She shook her head and reached for his buckle. “I skipped lunch and could do with a protein shake.”_

_Petyr’s eyes fluttered at her flirt, and he was sitting back on the patio chair before he knew it, her head bobbing up and down on his naked erection. He glanced down at his pants at his knees and only wondered for a split second, when that happened._

_Her mouth was warm and soft as she took him in, accepting as much as he offered and she could handle. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as her hands slid up over his belly, rubbing it while her mouth made love to his cock._

 ----

“I’m not saying I didn’t. I’m just saying that, if this was the price to pay…” Sansa’s head dropped.

Petyr lifted her chin to face him, and willed her eyes open as he said, “I would pay it a thousand times over.”

“Petyr…” She had no follow up. No argument to offer.

He kissed her lips as he had countless times throughout their life together, and she opened to him as she had each time.

 ----

_Her suit was off and on the ground beside them as she rode him, fingers digging into his ribs, and naked breasts arched out for him._

_He brought his hands up to cup her, twisting and rubbing her hardened peaks as she exhaled in pleasure above him. Her hips rocked slowly into him, dragging her nub against his pubic bone for friction. Pleasured sighs and moans escaped her as she did._

_When her breathing changed, her eyes opened and she looked at him, trying to determine in her own compromised state, how ready he may be. He smiled up at her and gave his approval, “Don’t wait for me.”_

_She nodded, rocking more rapidly, as muscles flexed and breath caught. Finally, her hips bucked in reckless abandon, a high-pitched cry emitting from her lips. She finally collapsed, insides squeezing at him in aftershock._

 ----

“What if we walk in that bathroom, look at that stick, and it says ‘positive?’ Hmm? What then?” Sansa looked at him.

Petyr rubbed her shoulder. “Then we are parents, three times over.”

“ _Four_ ,” Sansa wouldn’t allow him to stop thinking of the child whose heart beat, but never breathed.

He closed his eyes and kissed her cheek. “Yes, four.”

 ----

_“I can’t come yet,” Petyr explained._

_Sansa stared down at him, exhausted. “What?”_

_Petyr rubbed his palms over her thighs, bringing his fingers back to the cleft between her legs. “You heard me. I can’t come yet.”_

_Rather than feeling the effects of his touch, Sansa ejected herself off of him and scowled. “What the fuck?”_

_He kicked his pants off so he wouldn’t trip as he moved to stand, shrugging his open shirt off. “It’s not you. I can’t come right now. It’s just not possible.”_

_“What are you telling me?” Curiosity replaced the outrage on her face._

_Petyr wrapped his arms around her, letting his still-throbbing cock press into her hip. “I took a pill.”_

_Sansa looked down and chuckled softly, “Seriously?”_

_He nipped her shoulder. “I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten. As soon as I find you, I’m going to show you how serious I am.”_

_She gave him a skeptical look, as he let her go. He smirked and closed his eyes, “One.”_

_He heard an excited squeal and the scrape of their sliding glass door as she pulled it open and ran in. Petyr reached down and gripped his erection. “Two.”_

\---- 

“I’m too old for this.” Sansa broke from his grip. “My eggs must be wrinkly and useless by now.”

Petyr allowed the distance, if for no other reason than to grab his drink. How strange that the strange drink could smell so caustic, taste so bitter, and feel so smooth all at the same time. “You are not too old. I’m nearing sixty.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “In three weeks.”

“How long does it take to have a baby?” Petyr eyed her. “More than that, how long does it take for a child to grow up?”

Sansa sighed.

“Durran’s still got a year left, and I doubt he’ll be out of the house right away,” Petyr explained.

Sansa shifted in her seat, smoothing her hands down her skirt. “It’s different. You’re the man.”

“How sexist,” Petyr laughed.

“You don’t have to breastfeed at all hours of the night,” Sansa groaned.

 ----

_Damn, didn’t her breasts look perfect, even after all these years. Petyr stared at the contrast of her darkened nipples in the center of her creamy white breasts, jiggling and bouncing as she sat on top of the washer machine, legs spread wide open for him. He started with his fingers, rubbing and petting her outsides, before he pressed them into her, basing his movements off of her gasps and exclamations. Finally unable to handle it anymore, he climbed atop the whirring machine and plunged into her._

_Her legs fell open to him, hair falling over the side of the front loading energy-efficient machine that she’d hastily shoved an area rug into claiming, “It feels better when it’s off balance.”_

_He grinned, excited to know her little secrets. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t watched her sit and moan on top of the washer countless times through the camera feed he’d had sent to his phone. It was somehow more exciting to hear her explain it to him. Caught between the vibration of the machine under her, and the constant rhythmic press of his pubic bone against her nub, he felt her arms and legs clutch him tighter. “Petyr!” He grinned sinfully into her neck and licked it before he said, “Come.”_

 ----

“I got up with you, whenever I was home,” Petyr protested. “I wasn’t some layabout who didn’t ever contribute.”

Sansa shook her head, “No. I’m not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?” Petyr felt his frustration level rising.

She leaned forward and held her face in her hands. “I don’t know.”

Taking pity on her, regardless of how offended he was becoming, Petyr walked her over the glass he’d poured her before. “Sansa.” He held it out to her.

She looked up and glanced between him and glass. Finally, after a very obvious internal struggle, she accepted it and took a large gulp.

\---- 

_“No, Petyr. My pussy needs a break. I’m gonna make you come now,” Sansa guided him to the living room and sat him down in his favorite chair. She made it a point to walk ever so slowly across the room towards their liquor cabinet and poured him a drink._

_She walked over to him, letting her legs cross over each other, as any woman putting herself on display tended to do, and passed him his drink. He opened his arms to her and she sat in his lap. He took a swig of his drink, and held it on the arm of the chair, while his other hand found her thigh, and traveled upwards toward the heat that radiated from her core._

_Sansa ignored it, and dribbled her drink down her breast, letting it drip off her nipple. Her fingers played in the hair at the back of his head as she grinned. “Will you help clean me up? I seem to have made a mess.”_

_Petyr smiled and eyed the liquor-covered nipple. “I thought your pussy needed a break.” He pressed his fingers to her nub, letting them sink lower._

_She winced slightly and nodded. “It does. But my mouth doesn’t.”_

_He licked his lips at the idea of it, and leaned forward, whispering against her breast as he asked, “What about you?”_

_She laughed. “Don’t worry about me. After you cum in my throat, I’m gonna make you some lunch. When we’ve both had some rest, I’m gonna fuck you somewhere else we shouldn’t.”_

_At that he licked the alcohol off of her, and wrapped his lips around her nipple, sucking on it until she moaned a slight protest. He chuckled when she slid off his lap, to between his legs, and coughed when she began devouring his cock._

\---- 

“I don’t want to be pregnant right now at this time in my life,” Sansa confessed. Her eyes wide and glossy as she looked up at him, “Is that terrible of me?”

“No.”

“Of course you’d say that. You have to say that.” Sansa stood up again, clearly unable to get comfortable. “We’ve lost a baby before, I shouldn’t ever not want a baby.”

Petyr filled his glass again. “It’s not that you don’t want the baby. It’s simply that you don’t want that responsibility at this time in your life. It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“I am a mother now, Petyr. I still have responsibilities,” Sansa paced past him.

He exchanged her empty glass for his full one, thinking that a little extra libation her way wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “But not over an infant. We’ve been through this phase of parenthood already. It’s alright to not want to go through it again.”

\---- 

_“It’s fine,” Sansa got up and stormed off towards the kitchen._

_Petyr stumbled after her, feeling silly walking around with a hard-on. “Sansa! It’s not you! It’s the damn viagra.”_

_She had pulled the apron off the hook by fridge and donned it, covering all her sensitive flesh from anything that could harm it in the kitchen. She started chopping up some vegetables and asked, “Why did you take it?”_

_“What do you mean, why did I take it?” Petyr asked, watching her cut the carrots lengthwise instead of chopping them into rounds. “What are you making?”_

_“Does it matter what I’m making?” She shot back. “And, I asked why you took it because I wanted to know why you suddenly felt the need to pop a  pill in order to fuck me.”_

_“Whoa,” he raised his hands quickly. “I never said I needed Viagra to fuck you.”_

_“Then why did you take it?” She asked, putting a pot of carrots on the stove, without any water in it._

_Petyr walked behind her and turned the burner off without her noticing. In the twenty-four years they’d been together, she’d never learned how to cook. It was always cute that she tried, but often times it was a fire hazard waiting to happen. “Because I wanted to last longer for you. I thought it would be fun.”_

_“Three hours, Petyr!” She threw her hands up. “I can’t keep up. I don’t know who you think you’re married to, but I’m not some hot young thing who’s wet constantly and can fuck the day away anymore. Sorry I’m not her.”_

_“Sansa,” He reached for her, but she was too quick for him and ran out the kitchen._

_He was light-headed from the lack of blood flow to anywhere but his cock, but he chased after her to the best of his ability._

\---- 

“But if I am, I don’t want to end it.” Sansa looked at him. “I don’t want this, but I don’t want to lose it either.”

He nodded.

“Does that make sense?” She set her drink down and hugged him. “I sound crazy, and I know it.”

Petyr ran his hand over her hair and kissed her. “Babies do that to people.” He sighed, feeling exhausted. “If you’re-- _we’re_ pregnant, then we will raise it. If you aren’t, we can be relieved together.”

“Really? You’d be okay with us having a baby? Now?” Sansa asked him again, nuzzling her face into him.

\---- 

_In the time it took him to get his bearings and find her, she was already coming back from the bedroom. He didn’t get to see what she held in her hand before he all but tackled her to the ground in the middle of their hallway._

_She laughed as he spoke and trailed kisses down her. “Stop it!” Kiss. “Now!” Kiss. “You know I,” kiss. “Need you!” Kiss. “And I’m only hard,” kiss. “For you!” He reached her cesarian scar and ran his tongue over it. “I wanted to fuck you for hours.”_

_Before she could say anything, he bit and tugged at the scar a little, the flesh still in his teeth. She moaned at the unexpected force he used on her and smiled when he gripped her thighs and pushed them up, spreading and opening her to him. He stared down at the shiney red flesh exposed to the open air, so sensitive to his stimulation, and the spongy opening below it where he’d found his bliss many times over the years._

_Sansa chuckled and said, “Looks like I’m not the only one who wants you to come.”_

_Petyr dipped his head down and licked the length of her insides, from opening to cleft, twitching his tongue over her nub a couple of times as he did, listening to her shaky breath. He noticed her hand raise out of the corner of his eyes and picked his head up to look at a tube of lube, a vibrator and a cock ring._

_She smiled from the floor. “I brought toys to help.”_

_His dimples flared as he looked at his wife, so ready to please now, so ready to murder moments before. It was scary and sexy at the same time, how quickly her switch flipped. He let go of her legs, letting her sit up._

_She leaned forward to kiss him, and placed his hand on her breast. He massaged her, and moved his tongue to meet hers as he heard her open the tube of lube, and laughed at the humorous fart sound as she squeezed it in her hand._

_“Petyr!” She scolded, with a guilty smirk herself._

_“I’m sorry,” he apologized, feeling her hand grip him, and rub the oil over his throbbing shaft._

_She ran her hand up and down him, snickering as she asked, “What are you, fifteen?”_

_“If I were fifteen, our patio furniture would have cum all over it right now.” Petyr rolled his eyes at her._

_“Ha-ha,” Sansa mocked him before she kissed him again. She brought one hand to the side of his head, her thumb and forefinger gently pulling and rubbing his earlobe as she sucked his bottom lip._

_The sensation was building in him, more so than it had in their attempts earlier, and when he felt the ring side over the head of his cock, he shuddered. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I don’t need to maintain my erection any longer!”_

_“Relax, This one’s adjustable, I’m going to make it so it’s too big to restrict bloodflow like normal.” Sansa explained, sliding it loosely over him._

_Petyr looked down at her skeptically, “Then what’s the point?”_

_“This is.” Sansa reached under his cock, and pressed a button on the ring, sending currents of vibration swirling around him, massaging his balls in the process._

_He coughed and felt the tell-tale-twinges of a need that was building. “Fuck!”_

_Sansa’s sinful smile grew as she turned around and brought the vibrator between her legs. “I’m going to lay on the floor, and you’re going to fuck me from behind.”_

_He didn’t need to be told twice, his cock aching to be inside her with the ring rippling against him. She brought her legs together and arched her ass up to him in invitation. Petyr knew she kept her legs closed like that to make her pussy feel even tighter than her constant kegal exercises kept it over the years._

_One hand held his cock, while the other grabbed a handful of her ass cheek and pulled it apart from the other one. Seeing the deep red that called to him, he leaned forward, pressing his tip against it._

\---- 

“Yes,” he answered. “We will do this together, as we do all things.”

Sansa kissed his neck and jaw, “Petyr, you’re just what I need.”

He brought his hand to her hair, tilting her head so he could look her in the eye as he said, “You’re who I need in this world.”

\---- 

_He tried to keep his eyes open to watch, but they kept shutting, overstimulated by the gradual sink into her body, already wriggling under him. She moaned into the carpet, praises and curses as he filled her completely and didn’t move. The ring was trapped between his balls and her ass, pulsating at whatever setting she’d put it on._

_Unable to hold himself up at the overwhelming feel of her so completely encasing his cock, he set his palms flat on the floor to either side of her and exhaled. Suddenly he felt a cramp in his leg and he couldn’t move a muscle. Laying on a vibrator herself, Sansa wouldn’t accept his lack of motion and squirmed under him, mewling for him to fuck her. “I would if I could,” he laughed._

_“What the fuck does that mean?” She growled into the floor._

_He reeled back, wincing through the pain as he exposed some of himself to the open air. “It means that I can barely move. My leg cramped up.”_

_“No!” She lifted her hips, driving herself back into him, and the dropped back down onto her toy._

_Petyr bit his lip to stop from laughing at the situation. “Terribly sorry.”_

_“Arg!” She humped her vibrator under him. “Can’t you like rub it out or something?”_

_Unable to resist, he chuckled, “It looks like that’s what you’re trying to do.” He started to pull out of her only to be stopped._

_“Don’t you dare!” Sansa threatened. “We’re going to work through this. I won’t have it said that I couldn’t get you off.”_

_“No one would say that, Sansa.” Petyr lowered himself back down into her, gritting his teeth as he did, feeling the muscle pull more. “Who would even know?”_

_“I would!” She kept her hips moving under him, and reached her hand out to the hallway table to their left. “Fuck! Can you reach the drawer in there?”_

_Petyr lifted one hand up from the ground and reached to pull the drawer out. The movement was killing his leg and the pain was lessening the intensity of his erection. “Hey Sansa, I think this is actually working. It’s starting to go down.”_

_“What?” She shook her head, “You’re going soft, without coming?”_

_“A little bit,” he admitted._

_“No! There should be a small packet of coke in there to the right, underneath the envelopes.” She over her shoulder and said, “Do a line off my back, then give me a bump. We’ll be numb to pain, and just need to come.”_

_Petyr had been feeling around in the drawer as she shifted under him, giving his cock friction to keep it aroused. For only the briefest of seconds, he wondered if perhaps that was a terrible idea, combining Viagra with cocaine, though he didn’t dare dottle with Sansa underneath him, expecting him to orgasm. He poured a messy line between her shoulder blades, and leaned down to snort it quickly. He groaned in discomfort, both at the burn in his nostril and the pain of his pulled muscle, as he leaned forward again pouring another messy line on the back of Sansa’s hand. She picked her head up off the ground, and craned her neck to her hand, snorting it back desperately._

_She wasn’t wrong. Within minutes Petyr felt the effects of the drug, making him forget his charlie horse, driven only by the head of his dick needing to expel the accumulation of hours of unrelieved need. He picked up the tube of lube and squirted it between them as he picked up speed, smacking harder and harder into her as she lifted her ass to him. He watched the vibrator she was slithering up and down on earlier, roll out from under her in the commotion of it all, and he rammed down on her harder, pressing her flat to the floor._

_Sansa moaned at the sudden force, and gripped the table leg beside her as he jackhammered her until his heart stopped beating. One hand was on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground, the other on the floor for stability, when he felt himself explode violently inside her. He couldn’t feel the air fill his lungs, or the blood pump from his heart, but he could feel the cum shoot from tip of his dick. It was the best feeling in the world and he was a little giddy as his hips rocked into her still._

\---- 

“It must be time by now. Let’s go look.” Petyr pulled her towards the bathroom.

She allowed herself to be lead, but closed her eyes as she neared the sink. “I don’t want to.”

He kissed her hand. “Would you like me to look?”

Sansa took a deep breath. “How about we look together, on the count of three?”

“One,” he started.

“Two, she continued.

“ _Three_ ,” they finished, both leaning over to look at the home pregnancy test stick sitting on the edge of the sink. The digital words, ‘Not Pregnant,’ stood out against the grey background. They looked at the next test that sat next to it. It held a single blue line that the box promised meant, ‘Not Pregnant,’ also.

He hugged her close, feeling relieved to not be fathering an infant at the age of fifty-nine, sixty by the time it would be born. Another feeling crept in, however, a sense of disappointment. He remembered what it felt like to watch his woman carry his child, growing proudly for the the world to see. He remembered what it was like to cradle such warmth and unconditional love in his arms and tell it all the Baelish family secrets that they kept from everyone else. He missed those early mornings with Elenei and those late nights with Durran.

Sansa returned his embrace, clutching him tightly to her as she whispered into his neck, “I’m glad that I’m not pregnant. But I’m also kind of sad. Isn’t that strange?”

He let his hand run over her back to soothe her, and he inhaled the scent of her hair to soothe himself. “No, my queen. It’s not strange at all.”  


	20. Lala's Playhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generated from a prompt -- Sansa's POV -- takes place after part 5.

Sansa knew that the club entrance she saw through the car’s tinted window, was bland and understated for a reason. Illegal establishments had to at least maintain the pretense of discretion. That was particularly the case for establishments that weren’t run by the Baelishes. “What is the name of this one?”

“I couldn’t say, Mrs. Baelish.” Lothor Brune, loyal employee to both Petyr and her for years, replied.

Sansa looked down at her phone to read Petyr’s message, _I’m inside, waiting for you._

“Can’t say because you don’t know? Or can’t say because Petyr won’t let you?” She eyed him in the rearview.

Lothor cleared his throat and looked away. Avoiding anymore time in her scrutiny, he stepped out the car and around to her door, opening it for her. Sansa snickered at the defeated look on his face as she swung her legs out and accepted his hand. She couldn’t help but take pleasure in the nervous way he looked around to make sure the world saw how professional his assistance to her was. She rarely reached for his hand as a kindness to the man, though his refusal to respond warranted the unnecessary contact.

It was no secret that he wasn’t exactly a chatty-kathy, and tried to get away with saying as little as possible. Sansa let him off the hook more often than not, getting whatever answers she needed from reading him so easily. He locked the car behind them and escorted her to the door. Sansa smiled into the small mirror by the entrance, knowing her face alone would get her anywhere she wanted.

There was a clicking sound, as locks turned and metal scraped across metal. Slowly, the door swung open and the bouncer leaned forward, waving a metal wand over her. Sansa held up her hand and waved him off. There was no point in checking her for weapons, she was armed and had no intention of dropping her pieces. The man scoffed, “If you won’t submit to a metal detector, then you’ll have to allow a pat-down.”

Lothor shook his head and took a step forward to stop the man. Sansa smirked, “Now, now, Lothor. Let the man do his job.”

Lothor sighed and took a step back, looking at his shoe in disappointment.

“Thank you for being so accommodating,” the man responded as he crouched down, running his hands down her legs. “Miss…?”

“ _Mrs._ actually,” she corrected him as his hands traveled up her body, reaching under her coat.

“Oh? Married? You come looking for your husband?” He asked as he found one of her pieces and unholstered it, pulling it out to show her that he’d found it. “I’m assuming you’ve brought this to iron out some domestic issues.”

“You talk a lot for a bouncer,” Lothor croaked to her left.

Sansa grinned, appreciating the rare occasion that he volunteered his voice on any particular subject. The man smiled back at her, not understanding why she was content being caught. “I’ve only been working here a week, but I know enough to know that Lala won’t like you spilling your husband’s blood all over her furniture.”

“That’s fair,” Sansa shrugged.

He pocketed her gun, and brought his hands back to her, feeling for more. “Ever thought that maybe your husband’s not here.”

“He is.”

“How do you know? Who’s wife are you?” He asked as he pulled away from her.

He froze suddenly. Sansa knew he was feeling something sharp poking into his back. “ _Mine_ ,” Petyr answered from over his shoulder. “Did you get a good feel?”

Petyr allowed him to turn a little and look upon his face. He stuttered, “Liiitttlefinger--”

Petyr nodded, using his free hand to pull another knife out of his pocket. “If you move, I’ll drive this so hard into your spine that you’ll drop twitching on the floor. And who knows what I might do after that, with you so completely at my mercy.”

Sansa noted with pride that it was one of his butterfly knives. She loved watching him play with it, and even more so _use_ it. He opened it up and flipped it a few times, smiling at the bouncer as he spoke, “You searched my wife?”

“I was just doing my job,” the man explained.

The metal glinted in the light as the instrument flipped over and over on itself, a quiet clacking sound each time it did. He sighed, “I hate punishing people for doing their jobs, _but_ , I can’t have you walking around saying that you touched my wife.” He shook his head for emphasis, “I just can’t.”

“What? No! I would never say that I--” The butterfly knife stopped it’s tricks, the blade firmly lodged in his neck, dropping him to the ground.

Sansa was on Petyr in an instant, her tongue diving into his mouth as she moaned, “ _You’re perfect_.”

Petyr’s hands grabbed greedily at her ass, pressing her against his rather obvious erection, moaning back, “ _No, you are!_ ”

She brought her hands under his shirt and gently scraped her nails across his belly, then released his lip from her teeth long enough to purr, “Let’s go somewhere and fuck.”

He nodded, “I’m going to get us a room.”

She turned quickly to head back for the car, thinking he meant to take her to a hotel, when she felt him pull her back. He wrapped her up in his arms and clarified, “Here.”

“At a club?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, as she let her hands travel under his shirt again.

He smiled into her neck, “It’s not exactly a _club_ per se.”

She gripped the hair on the back of his head and gently tugged his face up to meet hers so she could look him in the eye. “What don’t I know?”

Petyr turned her towards the long hallway, “Let me show you.”

Sansa allowed him to lead her, as he called back over his shoulder, “Lothor, clean up.”

She snickered as she heard the man groan his superficial protest. If she were being honest with herself, she knew it was a bit gratuitous, but she didn’t appreciate being treated like any other clubgoer. She knew this place was new and the people running it weren’t local, but she would have it known that when a Baelish knocked, the door opened for them, unfettered. No one would dare lay hands on anyone graced with her same last name.

As they neared the end of the hall, Petyr leaned in and kissed her neck, a mischievous gleam in his eye. She looked up to see a neon sign that spelled out, _Lala’s Playhouse_.

Petyr pushed the door open and ushered her in. Men and women in all states of dress crowded the club. It was decorated in bright colors and with an ongoing theme of candy accenting every surface. To the right, a dj played happy upbeat music that girls in pigtails and school uniforms danced to. The bar sat to the left of the room and looked to be made entirely out of rainbow lollipops.

“What is this place?” Sansa asked, taking everything in. Patrons sat on the couches, handling the staff a bit more than Petyr would allow at Unveiled, and only a little less than if they were out right fucking them.

He brought her hand to his lips, giving it a kiss as he pressed his erection against her. “You saw the sign.”

Sansa laughed, “Playhouse?”

“Brothel is such a dated term,” Petyr shrugged, gripping her hip tightly to him.

“ _Brothel?”_ Sansa laughed again, though this time, a bit more nervously. Why would Petyr be bringing her to a whorehouse, of all places? This was not their style at all. They didn’t employ the services of a third party, both so obsessed with being the only one to possess the other.

Petyr had walked them to the bar and ordered them drinks, letting his hand drop to her ass possessively as he spoke to the bartender, “I want to see Lala.”

Sansa had never heard this name before and wondered what would make Petyr want to meet with this woman...on date night...in a whorehouse...with his wife on his arm. Something felt off about this. He was sipping his drink when she asked, “Who’s Lala?”

“The owner,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.

The only reasonable explanation she could think of was to show respect. It was a common practice amongst people who mattered to present themselves openly to one another whenever entering their establishments. It was a way of indicating that they weren’t trying to hide anything or act shady, and that they simply meant to patronize their establishments drama-free. However, drama usually occurred whether or not proper respects were paid. “Are we presenting ourselves for respect?”

Petyr nodded, and opened his mouth to say more, when he was cut off by a gorgeous woman of dark skin. “ _Petyr_!”

She looked to be Petyr’s age, if not older. Her stomach stayed toned from her youth and she wore a tight belly shirt to display that fact. Her skirt hung low on her hips and she looked like she might be a belly dancer. Sansa hated her instantly, disliking the stranger’s familiarity with her husband.

Petyr turned quickly, letting go of Sansa, a huge grin spreading across his face. “ _Lala_?” He asked, accepting her in his arms.

She hugged him tightly, much too tightly to be appropriate, Sansa observed. The woman spoke over his shoulder, her eyes closed as she reveled their embrace, “It’s just something the regulars started calling me. It’s good for business.”

Petyr pulled back from her, holding her waist as he took her in. “You always had a good mind for business.”

Sansa felt her body stiffen, each muscle flexing, her posture rigid. She hated how this woman felt so comfortable coming on to her man, right in front of her. She hated it more that Petyr not only allowed it, but reciprocated it as well. “You’ve known Petyr long?” Sansa asked, eyeing him for a reaction.

Lala’s hands traveled over Petyr’s chest as she answered, “We go way back.” She looked into his eyes, her smile warm as she said, “You have changed a lot since we were last together.” Her hands moved to his biceps. “A lot more meat on those bones.”

Petyr, she noticed, had not removed his hands from her waist. Lancel had died for that very same offense and his hold was in no way reciprocated as it looked now. Sansa felt ready to pounce, grab the girl by her kinky black hair and bash her face against the bar. Just as she was about to threaten her within an inch of her life, Petyr grinned and said, “Alayaya, I’d like you to meet my wife, Sansa.”

The woman turned her head and examined Sansa, head to toe. She chuckled, “She’s beautiful. Too beautiful for reason. I hope her crazy is fun.”

Petyr laughed.

 _He fucking laughed._ Sansa balled her fists at her sides, ready to strike him. Why wasn’t he slicing that bitch open for such an offense? He leaned in and whispered loud enough to be heard, “She’s here with me, isn’t she?”

Sansa felt her eye twitch.

Lala, Alayaya, or whatever the hell her name was-- _skeezy whore-bag_ was probably the best description--rested her arm around Petyr’s neck. “Open marriages are the best, really.”

“Mmm,” Petyr agreed.

_He agreed!_

Sansa felt her face flush in fury. Did he not just kill a man for patting her down? Doing his job? A quick pat over her clothes, and he died with a knife in his neck. Lothor was probably still wrestling his body in the goddamned trunk! Apparently, that didn’t matter though. His jealousy forgotten, standing in front of a full-bodied ebony goddess. Sansa kept hearing the woman’s words, _since we were last together._

They must have dated. That had to be it. She was one of Petyr’s old girlfriends. Who dumped who? Her knowledge of Petyr was that he didn’t let anyone leave him, not without putting up a _war_ to get them back. She smiled to herself as she considered her husband’s efforts to keep her in the past. Perhaps he left this woman, instead?

If that were the case, Sansa knew she shouldn’t feel insecure, logically. The familiar way he held her and the warmth in his voice as he spoke to her, made Sansa doubt that quite seriously. Petyr’s words to the woman jarred Sansa from her thoughts. “How’s your mother?”

Her smile faded and her eyes dimmed as she admitted, “She’s passed.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” Petyr offered his condolences.

The woman brought her hand to his cheek and Sansa wanted to slap it away. She looked into his eyes as she said, “She would have loved to see you now. Mr. Littlefinger, all big and bad.”

The relationship must have been serious for Petyr to have known the woman’s mother. Sansa eyed her belly ring and thought about reaching forward to rip it out and watch the blood splatter from the brutality of it. How dare this woman be close enough to her husband to have introduced him to her mother? Sansa had no mother to offer him. Only herself, and she often times felt as though she fell short. She inhaled, thinking of her mother’s sage advice to, _endure_. Just for the time being, just to save face.

“I saw her once,” Petyr looked off to the side, and a quick glance down showed one foot pointing in the same direction. She recognized it immediately as a stance he took when he was uncomfortable.

“You did?” Her face brightened.

He shrugged, “Through a chain link fence. At Karhold Correctional. I was in the yard when they were transferring some female prisoners.”

“How did she look?” Her voice caught as she asked and Sansa felt conflicted. She wanted to take pleasure in her pain, for her knowledge of Petyr. However, Sansa knew what it was like to lose a mother, and knew that any snippet of information about her, brought her to life.

She stood silently, hating this woman, but allowing her, her information. Petyr smiled, “Strong. She was certainly a top dog. Two bitches at her hips, and a few more cowering behind.”

The woman closed her eyes and smiled, “That was Momma alright.”

“I don’t think she saw me…” Petyr trailed off.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “She saw you alright. Called me up from Karhold Correctional. Told me she saw ‘Talented Petyr.’ And that it didn’t take you long to round up some muscle in there, either.”

Petyr laughed, “I had to survive. Picked up for petty larceny.”

Sansa had never felt more out of place in a conversation in her life. She hated it--hated her. She leaned back against the bar, waving her fingers for another drink, as she watched her husband fawn over his old girlfriend. She told herself over and over that she would not cause a scene. At the end of the day, they still ran the city together, had children together. His behavior was beyond inappropriate, and he would pay for it. Eventually.

As if feeling the anger radiate off of her, Petyr turned to look at her. “That was before Sansa, of course.”

“Naturally. I’d assume you’d have to learn how to avoid getting caught before you could catch yourself a pretty like this.” She laughed, looking at Sansa. Her breasts jiggled, and Sansa hated how revealing the top was. She knew it was ridiculous. Petyr ran a strip club, inspected the girls naked more times than either of them wanted. A little breast movement was nothing to stress over. She couldn’t shake the jealousy she felt over him cozying up to his ex, forgetting that she was even there.  

Petyr glanced over at Sansa, a lusty look back in place as he said, “Speaking of ‘pretty,’ we’d like a room.” Sansa wondered if the lust in his eyes was for her, or the ex that stood before him.

“Two girls,” he added quickly, holding up two fingers for emphasis. Sansa closed her mouth to keep her jaw from hanging open. They never brought others into their bedroom activities before. Surely, this was something that should be discussed prior? He looked around the room and pointed at who he wanted. “Blonde pigtails and brown bob.”

“Very nice,” she complimented his choices and snapped her fingers for the girls to come. “Would you like to book a Playhouse Room or an Activity Room?”

Petyr wrapped an arm around Sansa’s waist, the unwanted contact making her cringe. He raised an eyebrow at her, which she tried to ignore, silently promising herself to eviscerate him when they were alone. When she said nothing, he let his palm rest flat on her stomach as he asked, “Difference?”

“Games or toys?” She smiled.

Petyr glanced at Sansa before leering at the two girls that giggled in front of them. “ _Toys._ ”

“Very well,” she smiled. “Have fun.”

Petyr tilted his head to her said sincerely, “It was great to see you. Take care of yourself.” He then turned to lead Sansa and the girls towards an elevator. Sansa whispered, “Girls?”

“Mm,” he smiled, letting his hand slide further down her back as they walked.

She waited for a moment, to hear his explanation. When none came, she felt anger boil beneath her skin. He set the tone of their marriage, telling her when he proposed to her that there was no room for anyone else in their bed, and here he was, ordering not only one, but _two_ girls to join them. Her hand shot out, in a last minute impulsive gesture, and landed on the chest of a man as they passed. “Him too.”

Petyr’s head whipped around, gawking at the barechested man wearing a candy necklace and a silver speedo. “Sansa?”

She licked her lips as she looked at the man and said, “Come.”

“What are you doing?” Petyr pulled her closer to him.

She refused to respond as all five of them entered the elevator. If he was going to do this, violate their vows so carelessly, then she would show him what it felt like. She reached forward, and tugged the man closer to her by the candy necklace he wore. He leaned forward, smiling as he did, as all whores did. Petyr’s fingers dug into her hip as she lowered her head and bit a piece of candy off the paid man’s necklace.

Petyr’s nostrils flared.

She turned in his arm, to face the man better. His features didn’t matter, he may as well not have even been there at all. She ran her hand over his pecs as she giggled, “Your chest--it’s so smooth.”

Sansa could hear her husband growl behind her. _Serves him right._

The girls ran ahead of them, oblivious to the change in focus. One giggled back, “I love the _toy_ room!”

Petyr grabbed at her and she shrugged out of his embrace, holding onto this strange man, absolutely loving how frantic Petyr was becoming over it. She smiled into the man’s chest, “Come on, baby. Lets find our room.”

“Right this way,” he chuckled.

Petyr scowled, “ _Sansa!_ ”

She strode forward, through the door the whores held open for her. “What?”

“What are you doing?” He snarled through clenched teeth, reminding her, “You’re mine!”

“That’s what I thought,” she huffed, pushing the boy-toy down on the nearest cushioned surface, straddling him.

Petyr roared, wrapping an arm around her waist and yanking her out of his lap. “It’s what _I KNOW!”_

Her laugh was a bit sick as she fell back against him, sliding to the floor. The three prostitutes all stared at them, unsure of what to do. Sansa didn’t care how messy it looked, how ugly. She spun around and regained her footing. “Just go fuck your ex!”

“What?” He asked, face screwed up in confusion.

“You heard me!” She spun her ring around in her finger and reached up to smack him hard against his cheek. Blood seeped from the scratch that ran almost the length of his cheekbone. “I guess nine years mean nothing!”

Petyr staggered back as she jumped to her feet. He touched a hand to his cheek and brought it back away to look at the blood that painted his fingertips. “What are you talking about?”

Sansa glanced over at the audience they had watching them. She threw her hands up in frustration, “Stop watching! Fuck each other or something!”

Without any hesitation, the girls pounced on the man Sansa had picked out, licking and moaning. Petyr took a step towards her, “What do you mean? Nine years mean _everything_.”

“Apparently, not. What is it? The sex suddenly boring? Or are you tired of looking at me? Perhaps it’s that you’re just so excited to be reunited with your ex.” Sansa spat out.

Petyr took a step forward, and she took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Moaning and panting sounded in the background. She didn’t mind the soundtrack, because of how it helped to detract from the pain she suffered at her husband’s rejection. He turned his head in frustration, barking, “Leave us! Now!”

As quickly as they’d started, they stopped, turning to scurry away. Sansa felt hateful, “What’s the matter, Petyr? Can’t focus surrounded by the whores you wanna fuck distracting you?”

“I want to fuck you.” He furrowed his brows at her and pursed his lips, trying to understand where her rage came from. “I called the girls up so that we could audition them for a moment before we spent some time alone together.”

“ _Audition_?” She scoffed.

“Yes,” he confirmed with conviction. “You know the best girls are the ones we stole from someone else. They work for less, and tend to freshen things up.”

He was right about that. It was something that they’d both agreed about, early on. Their clubs needed a rotation of girls to keep things lively, and the best acquisitions were always the ones they’d gotten from someone else. He was right, they were always cheaper. They were also much more grateful, too. The Baelishes took care of their girls, treated them as employees, not slaves. It made sense for Petyr to snag some talent from a new house once it cropped up. He wouldn’t get away with such a simple answer that easily. “Bullshit.”

“Why would I lie about that?” He asked taking a step toward her.

She took another step back. “Because you know I’m angry.”

“Why are you, again?” He tilted his head in question.

Sansa laughed, “Aside from the fact that you wanted an orgy? How about that you promised me years ago, if you were conducting business with pleasure, you would tell me that before hand.”

“Actually, I never agreed to that at all. I distinctly remember telling you that your jealousy was a turn on.” He leaned forward with a smirk as he added, “And, I never said that I’d let them touch you…”

Anger vibrated through her body as she thought back to Becca the Baker. No, he hadn’t agreed to tell her. He agreed that he should have, but never continued to say that he would in the future. She grasped for something to throw back at him, “But it’s fine to touch you?”

He stood silently for a moment and then nodded his head, “Yes.”

She laughed, her jaw dropping. “That’s a double-standard if I’ve ever heard one!”

“It’s okay if they touch me, because I don’t care. I have you. I’m immune to any other woman,” he laughed. And then his face got more serious as he added, “Unlike you and that manwhore. You looked quite interested in your time with him.”

Sansa laughed uncomfortably, “Only to upset you.”

“It worked,” he lowered his gaze, his voice softening with his honesty. “It reminded me of the days when I didn’t have you. And the ones when someone else did.”

Sansa sighed, feeling his pain. Damn him for that. He was the one snuggling up to his ex, inviting people into their bed. Yet here he was pulling at her sentimentality. She inhaled and hardened her voice as she said, “I’m sure your ex can help you forget.”

“Sansa--”

She turned away from him quickly, taking a step towards the door. He was on her in an instant, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him. He whispered in her ear, “You’re wrong.”

“I saw the way you held her!” She spat back, trying to pull away from him. “You love her!” His hands wrestled the button and zipper of her fly as he held her to him. “Get off me, Petyr!”

“No! Never.” He managed to unfasten her pants, exposing her underwear to the open air. He held her close to him, a hand grabbing at her breast as his other dove down under her panties.

A rogue moan escaped her as his fingers sunk between her folds, finding her nub. She pulled from him as much as she could, squirming under his touch. He breathed in her ear, “She’s my sister.”

“Ha! I can see the family resemblance,” Sansa laughed and fought against his hold. Her hips betrayed her, rolling against the pressure he gave her. “You’re lying to me!”

“When have I ever lied to you?” Petyr slid his hand under her shirt, pulling her breast from the cup of her bra, pinching and tugging at her nipple.

Sansa sucked in air through her teeth, feeling herself gush at his ministrations. Her words were shaky, but she persisted in saying them regardless. “It wouldn’t be the first time you lied to me.”

“Omission doesn’t count.” He bit her shoulder, hard. Sansa couldn’t stifle the resulting moan, or stop her ass from pushing back into the bulge that bruised it. He licked the wound he created, “I’ve never outright lied.”

“ _Bran_ ,” she reminded him, spitefully.

His fingers dipped into her, a little rougher than normal. Her high-pitched cry at his sudden invasion was short as she tried to catch her breath. His fingers dug into her breast as he sneered into her ear, “I’ve already paid my dues for that.”

She tried with only little effort to escape his hold, panting as she countered, “Nevertheless, you don’t have siblings.” He rammed his fingers as high as he could, his knuckles unable to push past the soft tender flesh that surrounded her opening. She gasped, a tinge of pain hitting her. “Nine years, you would have mentioned if you had a sister!”

Petyr spun her around and before she could run, he rammed her back against the wall behind them, covering her mouth with his. Sansa’s hand reached down to cup his erection--it was simple reflex to do so. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself.

He bucked into her grip, his lips breaking from hers to sigh his pleasure. He drove his forehead into her cheek, his fingers working her cunt, and hips grinding against her palm. His voice was strained as he said, “ _Foster sister_. I was placed in her house for seven months, when I was fifteen.”

“Did you fuck her?” Sansa asked aloud before she realized she put voice to the words in her brain.

“No.” His answer was quick as he brought his other hand to her waistband, pushing her pants down.

Sansa wiggled, helping them fall down and pool on the floor, feeling the open air hit her bare ass. She brought her fingers to the back of his head, grabbing up handfuls of hair and pulling as she had back in the hallway over the dead body. She stared him in the eye as she asked, “Did you want to?”

His lips pursed and he sighed forcefully, “Yes.”

Pleased with his honesty, she leaned forward and kissed the cut across his cheek, licking the blood off her lips. “Did she let you touch her?”

His eyes closed as he admitted, “Yes.”

Sansa let go of his hair, and pulled at his belt as she asked, “Where?”

He shook his head, his massage on her insistent as he angled himself so she could unbuckle his belt.

She gently nipped at his cut, flicking her tongue over it, tasting the copper of his blood. “Hmm, Petyr?” She kissed at his jaw as she mewled, “Where did you touch her?”

His eyes fluttered shut, “I fingered her--twice.”

Sansa bristled. She glanced down at his hand hidden so far inside of her, and the lust-driven look on his face. “Like this?”

Her shook his head vigorously. “No. I was a kid, didn’t know what I was doing.” She felt him press harder against the soft spongy flesh inside her that almost instantly turned her into a quivering mess. He licked the length of her throat and then nipped her chin. “I didn’t want it like I do now. Her sounds didn’t matter to me.”

“But you wanted it?” Sansa had gotten past his belt, and pulled him out of his pants, so hot and hard.

He pulled his fingers from her, and gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her as he said, “As any fifteen year old boy would.”

Sansa squealed at the unexpected change of position. She kissed him deeply as he walked them over to the bed, stopping only when he flung her back on it. He kicked his shoes off and shucked his pants as he spoke. “You forget--I’m a forty-five year old _man_. Not a boy any longer.” He reached over towards the table by the side of the bed, covered in various toys and grabbed baggy with a blue plastic ring in it. Near as Sansa could tell, all the toys were sealed in plastic to ensure hygienic safety. This establishment may have appeared almost overnight, but it was clearly thorough in its cleanliness.  Petyr ripped it open and slid it on the end of his finger, not going any lower than his first knuckle. He turned it on and reached down, bringing the vibrating finger ring down to between her spread legs.

She sucked in air as he touched the device to her tender flesh. His other hand pushed her top up above her breasts as he grinned, “I know exactly what I’m doing, and to who. And Sansa--just so we’re clear, your sounds matter.”

Sansa squealed at that, feeling years younger. Remembering the way he held his sister, and remembering how much she hated it, she tried to resist further. “She’s pretty…” Sansa added, squirming under his finger as she pulled at his shirt.

He helped her remove it, and chuckled at her frown when he lifted his finger from her. “Funny, that. She was saying the same thing about you. Didn’t you hear?”

Sansa bit her lip, the sensation building as she asked, “Do you want to fuck her now?”

Petyr leaned down, taking his finger from her clit, only to cover it with his mouth, and plunge the toy inside her. She shivered, uncontrollably, “Oh, fuck! Petyr!”

She could feel him smile against her pussy as he flicked his tongue over her tender flesh. Sansa brought her hands down to his hair, grabbing handfuls as she ground herself up into his face. He tried to pull his head up, but she wouldn’t let him, each tingle stacking on top of another, increasing in intensity. She felt a sharp pain and released him immediately. She gaped at him as she realized that he’d nipped one of her folds. His head popped up, and he laughed, drawing himself up on his knees. His hands spread her legs and held her in place as he entered her.

Sansa sighed at the feel of him fill her, suddenly not caring about the biting offense from a moment before. When he was fully seated inside her, he let go of her legs and gripped her hips, thrusting into her. He was hot, hard, and filling her so completely--entirely the perfect feeling. His voice was strained as he explained down to her. “Much like you, I fuck who I want.”

She felt her breasts sway back and forth at his deliberate motion and reached over to the table beside the bed, too. She started opening a box as Petyr said, “That’s why you’re my _wife_ . And she’s my _sister._ ”

He dropped the hand with the finger vibrator down between them, back to her nub. She sighed as she removed the sealed bag from the box, ripping it open with her teeth as she asked, “You sure?”

He laughed as he watched their joining. “Since the very first time we spoke.”

She felt sentiment creep into their lovemaking, and shook the contents free of it’s bag. She picked the chain up from where it fell on the bed, and attached one clamp to the nipple that hovered above her. Petyr grunted, and thrust into her harder, feeling the painful pinch.

Sansa let the chain hang from his chest and laughed, “My ATM.”

Petyr’s thrusts became more deliberate as he found the other clamp at the end of the chain and attached it to her tit. She groaned at the painful pleasure, responding more so each time he thrust into her, and her breast jiggled, tugging at the clamps attached to them. He brought one of her legs up over his shoulder, mindful not to move the clamps as he increased his vigor, pumping harder and harder into her as he choked out, “My brainless pretty face.”

Sansa reached for his ass, desperate to come, to feel him make her whole. He leaned down, the cold chain of their mutual clamps dangling and sliding over her belly. His dick kept mining, and his finger kept coaxing, while his mouth dominated hers, using his tongue to keep her aching for whatever completion he offered.

It wasn’t long before she climaxed, crashing her hips up into him, desperately, greedily. He fell on top of her, still coming. She wrapped her legs around him, and brought his head to her breast, holding him through his sensation. When she could feel he was finished, she kissed the top of his head and asked, “When did you decide to love her like a sister?”

Petyr sighed, removing the finger vibrator. “When I realized that I didn’t care if she came or not, and that while she was pretty, she wasn’t ever pretty enough for me to risk myself over.”

Sansa winced as he freed her nipple from the clamp. “So you’ve thought of her as a sister for how long?”

Petyr turned his head to rub his face into her chest, kissing the injured nipple. “Since I was fifteen….so thirty years?”

Sansa smirked, and ran her fingers through his hair. “Then, I guess she can live.”

Petyr laughed at her martyred sigh. He kissed one of her bottom ribs before saying, “Was your interest in the male purely to upset me? Or did you have a true desire for him?”

“It was to affect,” she was quick to admit. Then she shrugged, “Though, I think we could earn more if we broke into male entertainment too. It’s short-sighted to rely on one gender, only.”

Petyr drove his deflating member into her one last time before leaning up to capture her lips. “You’ve got such a great mind for business.”

Sansa smiled, feeling him leave her, and she gripped his face with both hands. “Better than Lala’s?”

“Of course,” he nodded with a smile, eating up every morsel of jealousy she fed him.

“Are we inviting her to Christmas this year? Where she’s your sister?” Sansa asked, petting his goatee. She was trying to appear genial, but secretly prayed he wouldn’t take her up on it, lest a piercing get ripped out in a heated moment.

Petyr chuckled, “We’ll run her out of town long before then.”

“Oh?” She eyed him suspiciously.

He kissed her hand as he explained, “She’s a competitor. It’s not personal, it’s just business. She should have known not to set up shop in this city. Shouldn't have come back here.”

Sansa felt butterflies take flight in her belly, appreciation for her husband’s ruthlessness. “She doesn’t get a reprieve for being your sister?”

Petyr shook his head, laughing as he did. “I’ve had dozens of foster siblings. I liked her more than the others. We bonded, but not enough to overlook our interests. You come first, Sansa. Always.”

His hand dropped down to the scar above her pubic bone, rubbing his thumb over it as he said, “ _They_ come first.”

Overcome with emotion, she felt a tear gather in her eye. Sansa considered telling him she loved him, but the words just never felt like enough, so she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, “ _Mine.”_


	21. Newlyweds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the product of 2 prompts merged into 1. One prompt was for Petyr to be laid up and Sansa to take care of him. And the other prompt was for Sansa to have a crush on Lee J. Cobb specifically and for Petyr to wonder if she's got some Daddy issues. This takes place 3 weeks after the end of Merger, when Petyr's still in bed recovering from being sliced open and is in Petyr's POV.

He could hear her voice off in the distance. How far away was she? It didn’t matter, he’d be annoyed regardless. If she was close by, she was the suffocating nursemaid to a broken man. If she was farther off, she was cruel to abandon him. In either instance he hated himself more for being the pathetic invalid glued to a bed and at the mercy of her whim. 

She was not merciless in her attention towards him, and he hated that as well. They had just been married. They were meant to be honeymooning, fucking like rabbits on a cruise somewhere. He would laugh at the fact that in all the careful attention they paid to a wedding they would never experience, they had missed planning the honeymoon entirely, if blood wouldn’t color his bandages at the pressure of it. 

He shouldn’t care. Blood was something he’d seen so much of in the last couple of weeks. Sansa too. He knew his young wife’s history, knew that she stomached the sight effortlessly. Her worried look over him as she changed his bandage, hinted that it was not as easy to see the blood when it flowed from him. 

Was she weak for him? 

He might think that, if she hadn’t been keeping their household together. If anything, she was strong for him. And he hated every minute of it. She could be strong and independent. In fact, that’s what made her so attractive to him. She just couldn’t be for him. He loathed each time she held her breath, eyes wide and glossy, as she said something like, “Looking better!” 

_ Stop it, Sansa. Be strong for yourself, not me. I’m supposed to be strong for you! I’m your husband now. It shouldn’t be like this, _ he screamed silently in his head each and every time she attempted encouragement. Petyr didn’t dare say it aloud, even in his most frustrated moments. What if she left? They’d been married only a few weeks, dated only six months before that. Hell, he’d only met the woman less than a year prior and spent the first couple of months stalking her from afar, wanting but not having.

How much did he really know about her? As much as he possibly could, sure. He knew her measurements, mannerisms, and sexual preferences. He knew more. He knew he did, but the self-pity he’d roll in if he could actually pivot his body without aid wouldn’t allow him to see it. The one time they experienced conflict with each other, she left. Why wouldn’t she leave someone useless and bedridden? What could he offer her now?

She flounced around him, barely clothed in short-shorts and a tank top, her hair thrown up carelessly. His eyes traveled her long legs, flexing each time she bent, and he’d watch her shoulder blades move under the straps of her shirt each time she reached for something. It was killing him to see her looking so utterly delicious and to feel incapable of taking a single bite. He prayed for a loss in appetite, but had yet to be blessed with a wish granted.

She was leaning over him one day, inspecting his bandages yet again, when he felt a dose of bravery. “Take your shorts off.”

“What?” She laughed. 

She laughed. She fucking laughed. 

“You heard me,” he deepened his voice, feeling it in his chest. It only pushed against the pain he felt, didn’t pierce into it, so he kept it up. “Take your shorts off.” 

“Petyr, stop.” She smiled and rolled her eyes. 

“No,” his lips pursed. “Take your shorts off now, Sansa.” 

She sighed and stood up, walking away from him. What he wouldn’t do to jump off that bed and grab her, whip her around and impale her against the wall. That would teach her to dismiss him. He hated himself for feeling so inadequate. Her voice only angered him more. “What good would that do? We can’t fuck.”

“Can’t we?” He challenged her, knowing full well that they couldn’t. He was feeling obstinate, for all the times he couldn’t touch his wife, for all the times his wife touched him platonically. 

She walked around the bed, clearing his side table as she spoke. “You know that it’s too much for your wound.” 

He caught the material of her shorts as she passed by and tugged them, a stabbing pain catching him deep in his gut. All he had to do was wince and she was on him in a heartbeat, her face screwed in panic, her voice shrill, “ _ Petyr! _ ” 

He said nothing, breathing through the pain as she worried over him. With all his strength, he lifted his hand once more and set it on her leg. Her brow eased only slightly as she registered that he was well enough to touch her. She ran her fingers over his brow as he crept up the inside of her thigh. Her brain didn’t register what he was doing at first, still so caught up in his pain, but very quickly she realized when she felt him press against the elastic of her panties. Her head lifted, “Petyr?” 

“I can’t come, but you can,” Petyr fought to sound more confident than he truly was. The pain he’d felt in this little moment of assertiveness was sapping his energy. He let his fingers brush over the material of her panties, tracing her seam. His cock stirred at the heat that radiated against his knuckles. “I could help you.” 

Sansa closed her eyes, drawing a breath in a sharp inhale. Her cheeks colored when her hips rocked into his fingers and her eyes snapped open. Petyr smiled at how responsive she was, even through a layer of cotton. He only meant to think it, but the words came out regardless, “Let me be your husband.” 

She stared down at him, her expression losing the lust that had driven her pelvis seconds before. Her arms crossed over her chest and she turned out of his grasp, taking a step back. Her voice was hoarse with injury he hadn’t intended as she asked, “Is that what you think? I don’t want you as a husband if you can’t get me off?” Anger edged each word as she insisted, “ _ Service me regularly _ ?”

He wanted to shake his head and tell her no. He wanted to say that he hadn’t meant it that way, that he simply missed her, all of her, and wanted to feel intimate again. Except that he didn’t. Anger bubbled up in him as well, and before he knew it, he was growling,  _ “It’s part of it!” _

“Excuse me?” She hissed. 

“Husband and wife, Sansa!” He felt his chest tighten. “I’m your husband now.” His hand flew up and gestured to himself as he exclaimed, “ _ I _ provide for your needs!”

She blinked at him, unmoving. Were his words that incredulous? He knew that they came from different generations and she was a very independent woman, but he assumed that perhaps she appreciated his need to provide for the woman he cherished. He hoped so anyway, because he knew no other way to devote himself to her, to be her husband.

Her head cocked and a small smile played across her lips. She was up to something. Damn if it didn’t excite him, even though he knew he should be wary of it. Sansa wasn’t known for fighting fair. “ _ All _ my needs?” 

Unwilling to back down, he lifted his chin, “Yes. Every one.” 

“Money?” Her eyebrows lifted. “Will you support me? Financially? In addition to keeping me well fucked?” 

Where was she going with this? Sansa had plenty of money, the Starks made sure of that. She never needed a man to support her. He kept quiet, watching her. She walked over towards the safe in their room. “Hmm, Petyr? You gonna be my sugar daddy?” 

He raised an eyebrow, watching her spin the dial, bent over at the waist, letting the bottom of her ass poke out the bottom of her shorts. The ache in his groin made him lift his head higher despite the pain of adjusting. He wet his lips, “Yeah, if that’s what you want.” 

She swung the door open and grabbed a couple wads of cash, fanning herself with them as she stood up. “Oh thank god, Petyr.” She made a pouty face as she walked back towards him, letting a wad slide down her cleavage. “I was really worried.” 

“You were?” He asked, more flirtatiously than seriously, too wrapped up in the sensuality she suddenly oozed as she neared. 

“Uh-huh.” Her big blue eyes bobbed as she nodded. “I want this marriage to work.” 

“Me too.” His palms itched to touch her. 

“And we all know,” she paused to lean forward and give him a kiss on the forehead. “That I,” she kissed one of his cheeks before moving to the other, “only care about--” 

He turned his head quickly, catching her lips, not caring what she had to say, only that he caught her. Petyr was stuck in bed, hardly able to move, this was a victory he needed. The way she groaned and deepened their kiss told him that it was a victory, indeed. That was, until she broke free. Her pupils dilated as she sneered down at him, “ _ Cash and cock. _ ”

There was no response, no adequate one, anyway. He froze, staring back at her and the roleplay gone sideways. “Sansa--”

“Don’t.” Her hand rose and he wasn’t sure if it was to silence him or smack him. After a few seconds, she turned away from him. She dropped the wads of cash on the floor and made for the door. 

He wanted to call out to stop her, but he didn’t dare speak, not wanting to incite more of her wrath. As if she could feel his anxiety, she stopped, her hand on the knob. She hung her head and sighed. “What hurts the most, is that we’ve been through so much. _ I’ve _ been through so much to have you, and you still think I’m just some dumb superficial trophy wife.” 

“No!” He started to protest, but was out the door before he could get far. 

Rage made him clench his teeth together as he growled at the empty room with all it’s offenses. He knew he was being impossible in this state, and he knew she deserved better than that. Sansa had been by his side since the boat, having the surgeon teach her how to change his bandages, getting him food, water, painkillers. Fuck, she even helped him with the bathroom. That was quite mortifying, and the opposite of what he had ever wanted as a newlywed. 

He grabbed his phone and dialed Varys, determined to act. He couldn’t chase his wife, grab her, hold her, fuck her, please her. He couldn’t even say he was sorry to her. He could call her or text her, and chance her ignoring those attempts, so weak were they. 

“Yes?”

“I want an in home nurse. Now,” Petyr got right to the point. He felt his stomach gurgle hungrily, and added, “I would like them here within the hour.” 

“Where’s Sansa?” There was a note of concern in his voice. 

Good question. “I’ve sent her on an errand.” At the last minute he added, “This is too much for her, she seems exhausted.”

“I will have someone over within the hour,” Varys sounded determined. “It isn’t unbelievable that she would leave you neglected.” 

“ _ Varys _ ,” Petyr warned. He would never understand why the two of them refused to get along. 

“Would you like me to come by?” He quickly attempted to make amends. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Petyr glanced at his table, seeing that Sansa had set him up with everything he could possibly need. Water, snacks, tissues, painkillers, his book, remote for the television, etc. He wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone, but he was certain that if a nurse was coming in an hour, he could wait that long without Varys fussing over him. 

Petyr was fading in and out of consciousness, self-defense against innocuous small talk with the stranger tasked with shifting him to avoid the prevalence of bedsores. Behind the deep red of his eyelids, he heard, “Take your hands off my husband.”

His eyes snapped open to see Sansa in the doorway brandishing a gun. Her lips curled into a sneer, “ _ Now. _ ” 

The nurse standing over him held her hands up, turning slowly. “Mr. Baelish hired me to look after him.” 

The gun stayed on the home help, but his wife’s icey glare found him regardless. “Did he?” 

Petyr felt small in her gaze, as if he’d been caught committing some great offense. He had committed no crime that he was aware of, and she had no right to look at him so. “Yes. I did.” 

Sansa’s smile was anything but nice as she replied, “I apologize for the inconvenience, but my husband was mistaken. He does not need your help.” 

The nurse remained still. She was caught between Littlefinger and his wife’s gun. It was understandable that the poor thing wouldn’t know which way to turn, or run. The hesitation was too long for Sansa. She cocked the gun to demonstrate her seriousness. Petyr actually found it quite endearing of her to warn the woman so. Conversely, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about her desire for him to receive no professional assistance. 

He dismissed the nurse. “It appears as though I was mistaken. Your services are not needed. Please contact my associate, Varys for appropriate compensation.” 

“ _ Varys _ ,” Sansa scoffed. “I should have known.”

The nurse scurried away, not needing to be told twice. Petyr watched Sansa decock the gun and put the safety on before she tossed it on the lounge chair in their bedroom. “That he would do his job? That he would hire someone to care for me when you were gone? Yes, you should have known.”

Sansa started picking at his side table, clearing all the litter. Her scowl deepened and she held up a bottle of electrolyte infused water, fruit punch flavored. “What the hell is this?” 

“The nurse said I should be drinking electrolytes. It’s to make sure I’m hydrated and it has all sorts of minerals,” Petyr shrugged. 

She threw it in the trash and shook her head. “It takes fifteen sports drinks to equal the potassium found in coconut water. It has as many electrolytes, if not more, and doesn’t dye your insides this awful red.”

Petyr lifted his head at that. She’d apparently been quite thoughtful in her choice of drink when lining his table with various refreshments. He didn’t enjoy the taste of coconut water, and thought it was just some fad diet choice that women made. He rolled his eyes and drank it to appear more agreeable, but had no knowledge of the true reason behind her pushing it on him. 

His eyes softened as he looked at her. She turned away, noticing the wash basin beside his bed and the wash cloth floating in it. Her voice was rough as she asked, “Was she going to wash you, too?”

“Yes.” 

“ _ I _ wash you,” she wrung the cloth out, her knuckles white as she clenched the cloth. She laughed cynically as she shook her head. “She was going to do that wrong as well.”

“Was she?” He wanted her to turn around so he could see her face. 

She didn’t. 

“There’s too much soap in here. You’d be itchy afterwards with all that soap on your skin.” She picked it up and stalked off to the bathroom.

Petyr laid there, feeling her storm in the other room. Where his emotions had gotten the best of him before, they had calmed to a low rumble in the presence of her own hurt. She came out of the bathroom and set the basin down, pulling the cloth from it to wring it out. She yanked his covers back and lifted his arm, bringing the warm cloth to it. She didn’t look up at him, only down at her work.

He enjoyed her washing him, much more than he should. He had felt so useless stuck in bed, and this should have only furthered that feeling. Instead, he relished the attention of her wet hands cleaning and caring for his body. 

Sansa pursed her lips and peered down at him spitefully when he moved his arm away, and caught her chin. She had tears streaking down her cheeks and he felt gutted all over again. “Sansa?” 

She sniffed and swallowed. “You replaced me.” 

“ _ What _ ?” His mind raced trying to understand what she was referring to. She couldn’t have meant the nurse. Couldn’t have. 

“I was only gone for two hours..” She wiped her cheeks clean, her voice mocking as she added, “ _ Sansa’s gone? Not a problem, I’ll just get someone else to take care of me. Any girl will do. _ ”

“Sansa,” he protested. That wasn’t it at all. 

She tossed the cloth back in the basin, and wiped her cheeks again. “No one else could care for you like I do. I may not be a nurse, Petyr, but I know you better than one. How you lay more to your right in the mornings, and more to your left in the evenings.” 

He hadn’t noticed. 

“Or how your left eye tends to squint more when the pain’s getting too much and it’s time for another dose. How about how you always say, ‘it’s nothing,’ just before you try to do something stupid on your own cause you don’t want to bother me?” 

“Sansa--”

“I take care of you. No one else.” She cleared her throat. “Do you understand me?” 

He wanted to explain, but he didn’t know where to start, and honestly he was still processing what she had said. He had no idea how much she cared for him. He knew she sat loyally by his side, quick to call up food and hand him another pill. She washed him and helped him to the bathroom, and tucked him in at night, but he hadn’t realized how involved that was, how much care she would take in such simple tasks. Nurses were detached, and he was learning quite quickly that his wife was anything but. Unable to offer her any sort of response that would do her passion justice, he nodded his head, “Yes.” 

“Good.” She said satisfied as she pulled his shirt up, still not looking him in the eye. She pressed her fingers to the sides of his dressing. “Did she dress your wound?” 

He wanted nothing more than to lie to her, knowing she wouldn’t like the truth. He owed her more than that, however and knew that the truth was worth the initial upset. “Yes.”

She stilled above him for a moment before she bent down and pressed a light kiss to his abdomen where the tape on the gauze met flesh. “This is mine,” she spoke quietly into the wound. “You wear this for me.” 

Now it was Petyr who felt a growing lump in his throat. She locked eyes with him as she said, “If I hadn’t told you to teach them a lesson, they wouldn’t have retaliated so harshly. You wouldn’t have been taken from me. You wouldn’t have been--” 

“Hush. You can’t know that.” He argued, not wanting her mind to venture any further down this path. 

Her jaw tightened as she insisted. “That is my scar, Petyr. I may not wear it like you do, but it is mine, and _ I will  _ take care of it.”

He felt his own eyes start to water and he blinked furiously, trying to prevent any tear from escaping. He’d known her less than a year, been bound to her less than three weeks. Never had he imagined a woman would love him as much as she seemed to. He didn’t have the courage to ever ask it of her. When he proposed it was for entirely selfish reasons, so that no one else could have her, so he could lay such a public and permanent claim to a woman he’d desired so completely. The fact that she enjoyed his touch and appeared pleased by his mind, was a benefit, to be sure. He never expected her to love him a degree towards how he did her. She never said it. 

Neither had he. 

The word was so small for what he felt for her, and now, hearing her, feeling her, he knew it was for her as well. They said more in every smile, touch, and conversation shared. He proved it each time he protected her, and she was now in every second she tended to him. Love was something the Baelishes said with a gun raised, a knife pressed, or pleasure moaned. Now, he was quickly discovering that it was also said in the swipe of a sponge, the insistence of certain foods, and the need to redress wounds. What he wouldn’t give to crush her against his chest, hold her to him as he felt the warmth of her. It was an amazing feeling to hold the woman he loved, and it would be even more so, knowing how much she loved him in return. He barely choked out the words he knew were not enough. “Thank you.” 

She nodded, unwilling to let herself cry anymore. He knew the feeling. She changed the subject quickly, “Wanna snuggle?” 

More than anything. “Sure.”

Sansa moved around the other side of him, and lowered the railing on the hospital bed. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, stating that it was because he felt more comfortable there, but it was really so that there was more room for her beside him. She had insisted that he stay in the hospital bed, however, telling him that if he rolled over onto her and bled out, she’d never forgive him. 

In truth, she was probably right. He would be more apt to roll over if she slept next to him. He hated that she was in the other room when it was time for sleep, and oftentimes tried to convince her to watch a movie late at night so that she would fall asleep in the chair beside him. He knew it as selfish and horrible for her back and neck, but he felt better with her there. 

Very carefully, she climbed in. He tried to shift over and she shot him a warning glare, “Don’t you dare.” 

He sighed, feeling a sharp pain as he did. Irritation prickled his skin, heating his neck as he silently wondered,  _ Am I not even allowed a sigh, now? _ He was quick to hate his body for the disappointment it brought him. 

Fuck, didn’t she feel good, so warm and soft beside him. He lifted his arm slowly, feeling each muscle in his chest pull as he did. She didn’t protest this, somehow knowing how important it was for him to be able to wrap an arm around her. She nuzzled into his shoulder, letting her head rest more under his chin than on his chest. Her hair was so soft, and tickled his nose, but he didn’t care. He would gladly endure that torture, to feel her like this, to be this for her. He would be the man who held her, rather than the man that needed holding. She flipped through the channels on the television at the foot of the bed and he spoke into the crown of her head, “Where did you go?”

“I was upset…”

He smiled, knowing instantly. “Froyo with Jon?” 

She nodded. 

His mind wandered and he asked, “Show me your hands?” 

“Why?” She lifted her head quickly. Her eyebrows furrowed as she declined, “No.”

“Please?” He gave her a boyish grin he knew she couldn't refuse.

She sighed, “ _ Fine! _ ” Very slowly, she picked up her left hand, and held it suspended in the air. 

Petyr reached forward, capturing it to pull forward for closer inspection. “Manicure, you were mad.” 

“I told you.” 

“French tip, he sided with me.” Petyr chuckled, wincing as he did. He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them. 

“What?” Her brow furrowed further. “How could you possibly…?”

He smiled smugly. “French tips take longer, you needed more time to accept that you were wrong.” 

“I was not wrong!” She growled back, and then possessed by a need they both shared, she bit his neck and he felt it all the way down in his groin. Her voice was harsh as she reminded him, “I’m more than my age and our money. I was right to be upset at your insinuation.” 

Petyr took a breath, trying not to pant at the feel of her teeth grazing his flesh, or the passion in her voice. “But he said something you didn’t like?” 

She sighed and nudged his jaw with the top of her head. “He told me that it wasn’t wrong for a person to want to be what he once was to another.” 

“Didn’t I say that?” Petyr chided her. 

“No, you actually didn’t,” she laughed. “You made it all about men and women and provider versus providee.” 

“Providee? I don’t think that’s even a word,” he teased, inhaling the scent of her. 

She chuckled, “Shut up. You know what I meant.” 

“But you understood it more when Jon said it?” Petyr appreciated that Jon helped her to comprehend certain things, but disliked that she couldn’t have figured it from his words alone.

Sansa smiled into his chest, “He didn’t make it about men or women. There are things I can’t do for you right now, either. Don’t you think that makes me feel terrible? You think I don’t want to be that fun young wife who sucks you senseless?” 

Oh just the thought…

“You are still young, and very fun,” he tried to disagree. She started to shake her head, and not wanting to argue anymore, he gave up, “But I know what you mean.” 

Silence passed as she flicked through the channels. His eyes stayed closed, not caring what they watched, so long as he could keep holding her as he had been. 

He heard her squeal in excitement suddenly, “Lee J Cobb!”

“Who?” He asked, opening his eyes. He vaguely recognized the name from his own childhood. When his eyes landed on the trademark cleft chin and the aged face of the actor on the screen, he recognized him instantly. He was a big hollywood name in his day, known particularly for his roles in westerns. Why would she be excited about him?

He felt her blush into him, refusing to look up. “He was my first crush, ever.”

“ _ What? _ ! Him?” He couldn’t contain his surprise. Or judgement. The man was many many years older than him even, and he was  _ fourteen _ years her senior as it was.

She giggled into him, burying her face into his armpit.

He hated to think it, but perhaps his Sansa had a bit of a daddy-complex. It would make sense. Her own father died when she was fourteen, in the middle of puberty, when hormones were raging and feelings were confused. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror for a bit, save the small handheld she gave him when she kept his goatee up. He hadn’t asked her to, but was glad she had. Was he really so much older than her? Fourteen years. Sometimes he would think of it and sigh, noting how easily their emotions closed the gap. Other times he would realize it and most definitely feel it. He was sure that it was something they both experienced the rewards and consequences of. She got a more experienced lover, and established man, even if he was a bit  _ seasoned _ . He got a sharp young wife with as tight an ass as she had a cunt. 

Fuck. 

He was thinking about that again. Damn it. He needed to stop and he knew it. It was hard with her giggling into him like a schoolgirl. He glanced over at Lee J. Cobb, in all his sagging and wrinkled glory. She couldn’t truly find that man attractive, not truly. He was so much older--wider. Petyr was no young boy, but he was definitely more disciplined. He didn’t scarf down a whole pie and then pretend to be a hollywood hunk for the girls to fawn over. 

Part of him wanted to be pleased with this information. It meant that as he aged, her desire for him wouldn’t wane. Another part of him wondered if perhaps she only noticed him because of some psychological break she experienced from the death of her father. It was alright if he loved her more than she loved him. He hadn’t expected any less, though, today’s display made him wonder if their footing was more equal than he’d anticipated. It was alright if she was drawn to him for his power and influence. A man like him didn’t rise as far as he had, and not realized that it would benefit whatever woman he bound to himself. It was not acceptable, however, if she only wanted him because she missed her father. 

He was not a stand in to Ned Stark, or any other father to the woman he licked to completion. Well, when he wasn’t laid up, anyway. He wanted Sansa to crave him as he craved her, and not simply because she missed  _ Daddy _ . He tried to lighten his voice as he teased, “He’s older than I am!” 

_ “Was. _ He’s dead, Petyr,” Sansa laughed, setting the remote down.

She was leaving it on this? He never said he wanted to watch a western, or anything that featured Lee J. _ goddamned- _ Cobb for that matter. He laughed again, “I’m surprised you even know about him, most of his work’s in black and white, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, but Dad watched him all the time. He loved westerns,” she shrugged nonchalantly. 

Of course he did. 

He took a deep breath and kissed her head. “You miss him, don’t you?” 

She paused and then nodded against him. “Of course I do.” 

“So, does this guy help remind you of him? Your dad?” He tried to be reasonable. Loss was hard. She might not really have a _ crush _ on this guy per se, so much as he just reminded her of someone she loved and lost. That was perfectly normal. 

She shook her head, laughing, “Ew, no!” 

Ew? He lifted his head to study her better. She felt his movement and looked up at him. “I had a crush on him, no way did he actually remind me of my dad. That’s gross.” 

So it was a real crush. A real, stomach fluttering, cheek-blushing,  _ crush _ . “He’s just so much…”

“Older?” She asked, winking at him.

“And, well, his chin…” Petyr remembered boys being laughed at when he was younger for such a feature. 

She giggled, “I know! Isn’t just so _ masculine? _ ”

Laying there, feeling his muscle mass deteriorating each minute he lay in bed, Petyr’s jaw tightened through his forced smile. “Yeah. I suppose it is.” This was killing him. 

Again she giggled. Sansa reached down under the blankets and pulled his shirt up, careful not to let it hit his wound, exposing him to the open air. His arms tensed, wondering what she was up to. She gave him a devilish grin as she hovered over him, her tongue extending down. He watched her, the entirety of his attention focused as his cock stiffened and his breath caught. She flicked his nipple a couple of times before she covered it with her mouth, giving it a sinful suck. Her eyes opened and looked back at him before she released the tender flesh. “Don’t be jealous.” 

He didn’t have the air in him to deny it, feeling beyond disappointed as she lowered his shirt, smoothing it down gently. She snuggled back into him and that was the end of that. 

Fuck. 

Why? Why couldn’t they have more than that? Stupid fucking evisceration wound. And, damn that tease! He shifted his hips hoping the comforter was heavy enough to hide his erection, if she wasn’t going to do him the courtesy of exploring for it. He let his head run wild with various plots for revenge, all to be enacted upon her body. 

As if she could read his mind, she added, “Especially not of a dead man.” 

“I’m not jealous of a dead hollywood actor, Sansa.” He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, hoping it would help make his act more convincing. It sounded ridiculous to be so jealous of an actor, an old actor, an old dead actor. He read between the lines again and reminded himself that it was also ridiculous to be jealous of a dead father. All women were girls once, and all girls loved their fathers. His mind flashed to some of his sisters and girlfriends in foster care growing up, and he quickly corrected that assumption. Not  _ all _ girls, but most. He thought for a moment about any daughter he might have, and how she’d adore him above all other men. 

He glanced down at the copper locks under his nose and sighed. Children were out of the question. At least for Littlefinger and the head of the Stark Wolf Pack. They were such a liability, and Sansa was still so young. She’d want to travel the world, maybe go to school. Wasn’t that what twenty-somethings wanted? If he was lucky, she’d be a complete homebody and just want to live life pampered. He knew it was selfish, but he would count himself lucky regardless. 

She truly wasn’t a trophy wife by any means, and he hated that she even alluded to it before, but she was definitely his greatest treasure. Why not put her on a pedestal and prize her above all else? Wasn’t he already? What difference did it make if it was more pronounced by her living life in Cartier, Manolo Blahniks, and Birkin bags--sans sticky-fingered children hanging off her?

She laughed again and then kissed him through his shirt this time. “It’s the voice, Petyr.”

“What?”  He asked, confused. 

“Close your eyes, and listen.” 

He did. 

He could hear Lee J. Cobb’s deep rumble through his surround sound speakers. It was steadfast, commanding, and yet--open minded. If that were possible. The man was firm, confident, established. He was also funny and extremely comfortable in his own skin, willing to laugh, willing to listen. Fuck, if he were a woman, or at least a more  _ open _ man, he’d probably feel something similar to how Sansa did for the man and his screen presence. 

He heard her voice purr in his ear. “Doesn’t he sound just like you?” 

No. Not even a little. She was flattering him, but he would take it. “I see what you mean.”

“No,” she nipped his ear. “You  _ hear _ what I mean.”

He opened his eyes just long enough to find her hand and thread his fingers through hers. If he couldn't fuck her, or even sit up in bed on his own, he would at least hold her hand in his. She nuzzled into him again, and after a couple of minutes, he was certain she had fallen asleep. It had been a long, emotional day, and he enjoyed being able to do at least this for her, if nothing else. 

 


	22. Burning the Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elenei's POV -- takes place between parts 4 and 5 -- so she's almost 3.  
> Also, for US readers -- HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!

“Daddy! Daddy!” Elenei called at the top of her lungs as each little foot slammed down hard on the floor. She was terrified and needed him more than ever. Daddy would know what to do; he always did.

He was in front of her in an instant, his grey-green eyes searching her in obvious concern. Perhaps he’d noticed the difference between one of her usual hollers and this panicked scream. She was still mid-stride when he scooped her up in his arms and searched her little wrinkled face. “What is it, Princess? What’s wrong?”

She could see what she wanted to tell him, but couldn’t find the words. Words had been difficult for her, but didn’t seem so to anyone else in her family. Auntie Aerie rattled off a ton whenever she visited, and Daddy and Mum always seemed to speak so easily to each other. Even Uncle Jon and Auntie Ygritte seemed to know their words, except they cheated and used their hands to say them. On any given day, Elenei would be jealous, but she didn’t have time for that right then. The image of her mother opening the oven door and all the fire pouring out froze her in horror.

Her father smoothed his hand over her hair and asked again, “What’s wrong?”

She thought to the most recent episode of Paw Patrol she saw. He was fire dog so he was very brave. She needed to be brave, too. Mum needed her to be. “Mum.”

“Mum? What’s wrong with Mum?” She felt his grip tighten and his eyes widen. “ _Sansa?_ ” He called out.

Caught up in his firm grip, Elenei found the courage to spit out, “Fire.”

“Fire?” He asked, taking a step forward, his gaze darting to all the exits as he yelled, “SANSA!”

“It’s fine, Petyr. Really!” Elenei heard her mother shout back through the wall from the kitchen.

Her father’s muscles relaxed at the sound of her mother’s voice. He looked down at her and raised his eyebrows, which she knew was his silent way of asking her if what Mum said was true. Elenei shook her head no and then held both of her arms up and explained, “ _Big_ fire, Daddy.” 

He nodded, “Alright. Stay here. I’ll go help Mum.”

He set her down and she watched him walk towards the kitchen. She was relieved he was going to help her mother out, but a part of her wanted him to keep a hold of her. The safest feeling in the world was when either of her parents held her, but she would settle for just seeing them. Her father had told her to stay put, but she didn’t care. She wanted to see them, know that Mum was okay.

She crept one tiny foot in front of the other, holding her breath as she walked. When she got to the archway that lead to the kitchen she stayed around the corner at first, just listening.

“Why did you dismiss the help on Thanksgiving of all days?” Her father asked.

“Because I wanted to cook,” her mother replied as if it was an obvious answer. To Elenei it was pretty obvious; if you didn’t want someone to do something for you, you did it yourself. She didn’t understand how that would be so difficult for her father to get. He understood most things, after all.

“Sansa, no one expects you to cook Thanksgiving dinner.” His voice was softer, and Elenei wondered if they were hugging. Their voices always got softer when they were hugging.

“I know that, but I wanted to. I’m a mom now, I feel like I should be able to cook something for my family.” Elenei nodded to herself. Her mother wasn’t wrong. Mommies always cooked for their families, she never knew why Mum didn’t. Then again, the flames that came out of the oven when she opened the door might have had something to do with it.

“You were a mother last year and the year before, and you didn’t have it in mind to try cooking then. Why is this different?” Elenei didn’t understand what her father was trying to say.

She heard her mother sigh and she snuck a peek at her.

Her father held her, and her head rest on his shoulder, her long red hair falling down her back and over his arms. If there was anything about her mother that Elenei would always remember, it was her hair. It was gorgeous and she always wanted to touch it. Sometimes she would wrap it around her finger and fall asleep. Whenever her mother attempted to move her sleeping form, she’d feel a tug on her finger and wake up. She knew her father cherished Mum’s hair too, because he was always touching it and every time he hugged her, he would smell her hair. Elenei wondered if all prince charmings liked their princess’s hair. She touched her hand to her own inky black tresses and chewed her lip. Her hair was devoid of color, how would she ever have a love like her father and mother?

She’d stopped paying attention to their conversation, too caught up in her own plans for marriage and happily ever after. They’d separated and her father was pouring her mother a drink in one of the funny looking glasses that only grown ups were supposed to use. He smiled as he said, “I’ll call them back. They can fix this, for enough money. Arya’s always late and Jon and Ygritte won’t care. Rickon’s flight was delayed anyway.”

Her mother accepted the glass, “Thank you, Petyr.”

Elenei snuck a glance at her father, he looked so happy to see Mum smile. He continued, “And if you want, we’ll celebrate Black Friday this year.”  

Her mother’s eyes bulged and she set the glass down on the counter, coughing her drink. “You said ‘never again’ after last year!”

Elenei wondered what Black Friday was. It didn’t sound very nice. What day that had ‘black’ in front of it was a good day? She looked down at the tips of her hair and wondered for a moment if it was to celebrate people with black hair. Did she have a day devoted to her and others like her? No way. Couldn’t be. That would be too perfect. And if that was the case, why would Daddy say that he wasn’t going to ever celebrate it again? She had to know about this day. Auntie Aerie would tell her about it if she asked, she was sure of it.

Her father chuckled, “The Bentley hasn’t needed bodywork for a while, why not?”

“You make it sound so bad.” Her mother playfully slapped at his chest. “Like you’ve never gotten into a bit of a scuffle while you’ve been shopping before.”

“Not until I met you, and never with a vehicle,” he laughed. Elenei was seriously wondering what a ‘scuffle’ was and what part cars played in it.

Her mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine. It won’t get that bad this year.”

“Now, now, don’t speak too soon. You have a reputation to keep,” her father teased. “The richest bargain shopper in the city.”

“It’s not about saving money. It’s about the sport of it.” She huffed, “Cersei would understand.”

Auntie Cers! Elenei loved it when Mum and Auntie Cers played together. They were always drinking grown up drinks and giving her things. Auntie Cers kept promising to take her to get her ears pierced and Mum kept telling her no and then they would both buy her pretty bracelets and necklaces instead. Elenei didn’t care about those things, she loved to run and play outside more, but when she saw her mother and Auntie Cers together, they looked like princesses and Elenei wanted to be a princess too. She wondered how long it would take for her to be grown up enough to have some grown up drink.

“Cersei would,” her father rolled his eyes.

“You’re in a mood,” her mother challenged lightly.

He shook his head and she wrapped her arms around him, “What is it, Petyr?”

“I was just worried. When Elenei came running to me and told me you were in a fire, I just..”

Her mother nodded as if she knew what he was going to say. Elenei didn’t have the slightest idea what he was going to say, so she didn’t know how her mother did. It was more proof positive that her parents spoke so easily. Elenei wished she could think of the words she needed, so she could be more like them.

Her mother’s voice lowered as she whispered, “Can I make you feel better?”

“ _Always_ ,” her father answered through closed eyes.

“Good. Let’s put the parade on tv for Elenei.” Her mother kissed his cheek as she pulled away from him.

Elenei didn’t stay to wait for his reply. She covered her mouth with both hands and ran as quietly as she could. She was standing almost in the exact same place her father left her when her parents came in. Her mother came over to her and gave her a big hug. “It’s all okay, sweetheart. There’s no more fire and everyone’s safe.”

Her father was already fiddling with the controls on the television. “No more fire?” Elenei asked, knowing it was gone, but needing to pretend she didn’t.

“No more fire, promise.” Her mother kissed her forehead. “But, Mum’s all covered in smoke and soot, so I need a shower.”

Elenei nodded.

Her mother smiled up at her father and added, “And I need Daddy’s help.”

Mum showered on her own sometimes, cause grown ups could. Sometimes, though, her parents helped each other. Elenei just figured it was for times that they were extra dirty. Before she could think about it too much, a gigantic Paw Patrol blimp appeared on the screen, and a Pacman just after that. Elenei dropped to her bottom on the floor, staring at the screen with her jaw hanging open in wonder at all the cartoons she’d watched come to life at a hundred times their actual size. She barely heard her parents laughing as they scurried down the hall to their private bathroom.   


	23. Keeping Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV -- 2yrs after Fall of the Pride -- Valentine's Day Special

He pulled himself upright, his stomach churning from the stress of the minor abdominal flex. A dry and scratchy throat made him swallow and discover a case of cottonmouth. It was so severe that he was desperately drawn to the nearest water source he could find. Naked, and unsteady on his feet, he gripped the door frame to keep his balance.

Petyr didn’t bother to look at himself in the medicine cabinet, knowing whatever he saw would be disastrous enough to warrant FEMA. He turned the faucet on and dipped his head to drink straight from the tap, pleased no one was around to see him behave so uncouth. Dehydration reduced him to such savagery.

After he’d gulped down enough to quell the severity of his thirst, he straightened and assessed the damage. Fuck if he wasn’t dead-on in his assessment. He looked back through the bedroom door and blamed the insatiable vixen passed out in his bed. Sun-scorched hair exploded in every direction while various supple limbs tangled in the sheets, shifting slightly with each groan of restless slumber. Drawn even then to the sight of her supine, so exposed and accessible, Petyr brushed a lock of hair from her face. He grinned when he saw her cheek twitch in unconscious pleasure at his touch, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he whispered, “Coffee?”

“Mm,” she moaned as she rolled over more. “ _So thirsty_.”

“I know, my love. I’ll get water too.”

Both Bronn and Gendry were out of town at the same time for the first Valentine’s since their little trio formed, leaving Arya and Gunar alone, so she agreed to take Elenei and Durran for the night. It was because of the absence of his children that Petyr could carelessly wander around his home stark naked, but being uncertain when Arya would be bringing them back, he thought it best to grab a pair of sweatpants just in case. Just when he started to pull them on, he noticed a blurry tattoo inside his thigh. Blinking his eyes into focus, he saw that it was a heart drawn in black permanent marker. Petyr licked his thumb and rigorously rubbed at it, sighing in resignation when he was unable to remove it. Curious now, Petyr stepped over to Sansa’s full length mirror and took quick stock of all the little hearts with numbers scrawled inside. They were documented evidence of his naughty wife’s craving for him, and his body was absolutely littered with them.

Petyr smiled to himself thinking of how he received the heart that was peeking out from the waistband of his sweats. He then turned towards the bed and gently pulled back some of the sheet that covered Sansa, grinning proudly at the small numbered hearts scattered across her body as well. It would be many days before the permanent ink was scrubbed clean. Even as the hearts faded, sight of each one would elicit the memory of how it was earned, allowing recollection of their Valentine’s night to linger in their minds.

Sansa had approached him the day before saying, “I want to play a game for Valentine’s Day.”

Petyr had already made plans for their holiday and sighed rather warily. “I’m not in the mood to feel jealous at the moment.”

“No. Not that kind of game.” She walked over to him, and pushed his laptop out of the way so  that she could lean back against the desk. “But, thank you for letting me know.”

“We promised we would be upfront about these things.” He scooched his chair closer, spreading his legs to surround hers as he reached forward to massage her thighs. “What kind of game?”

“More of a challenge, really.” She grinned down at him. “To see how many points we can rack up.”

“Points?” _Challenge?_ She’d definitely gotten his attention when she had said that.

“Everything naughty is worth points. At the end of the night, we count up how many points we got and compare it to the year before.” She uncrossed her legs, allowing his hands to wander where they liked. “I’d like it to be a tradition.”

His palms traveled her thighs toward the siren call of heat and arousal. “What’s worth what?”

Sansa bit her lip in anticipation. “I’ll give you a scorecard, but I can tell you right now that fingering’s worth five.”

Petyr chuckled. “Really?”

“Yes, but you can do things to make it worth more.” Sansa closed her eyes as his fingers picked persistently at the elastic of her panties.

“Like?”

Sansa gave a soft chuckle. “Do it in public and it goes up to fifteen.”

Petyr’s fingertips massaged the soft, damp flesh beneath the material he’d successfully circumvented. “How will we keep score?”

She reached in her purse as he teased her seam, her attention obviously distracted, taking her much longer to retrieve the black sharpie than it should have. Just as his fingers sunk inside her, she pulled the marker out and almost dropped it. Her breath was shaky as she instructed, “Draw a heart on me and write the number five in it.”

Petyr leaned forward and kissed her thigh, smiling against it. “I’m rather busy at the moment. You’ll have to draw it for me.”

She was silent, her eyes closed to better bask in the slow internal massage he gave her. She  was able to regain her composure enough to draw a heart on her hand and write the number five in it. “Everything I do to you will be marked on your body, and everything you do to me will be marked on mine.”

“What about fucking? Is that something I do to you, or something you do to me?” He teased, taking odd pleasure in watching her draw on herself because of something he was doing to her. Unable to resist, Petyr curled his fingers and used his free hand to catch her when her knees buckled.

“ _Double-points_!” She moaned.

“Excellent.” Petyr licked his lips and promised, “I’m going to win.”

The coffee percolated in the background and he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Assigning a numeric value to their sexual exploits only excited him for more Valentine’s days to come. He wanted the grand total of points to rise each year. Judging by the heart with a number twenty written in it, drawn on the underside of his dick, Sansa would look forward to the challenge as well.

She was awake when he returned and in the shower, bracing herself against the tile wall, her mouth hung open in the spray, as desperate to hydrate as he had been. He shucked his pants quickly and brought the water in with him, happy to give his woman what she needed. Sansa offered him a lopsided smile and accepted the bottle, sliding easily into his embrace. Petyr listened to her gulp half of it down as he kissed her shoulder before she turned in his arms and pressed the bottle back into his hands. “Drink,” she insisted, taking the opportunity to return his kisses against his neck as he did. “Then we should call Arya, and tell her to keep the kids, _indefinitely._ ”

His laugh was muffled around the bottle as he drank, knowing better than to take her seriously, but enough to appreciate the sentiment. Petyr dropped the empty bottle to the shower floor when he was finished and it clanged loudly, rolling away as he wrapped his arms around her again. Sansa sighed into his embrace, allowing him to dip her head back into the stream, closing her eyes as the water ran through her hair. Her question was asked in a pur. “Shall we count now? Or later?”

He massaged the back of her head, letting his thumbs rub circles behind her ears. When she tilted her head, he could see the small heart he’d placed there. He had meant to reach for the shampoo and wash her, but when he noticed the subtle mark, he started to wonder where else he hid his hearts on her. There were the obvious ones on her breasts, belly, and thighs, but he knew he had hidden some too. As exhausted and worn out as he was, the idea of finding them was too pleasing to put off. “Now.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she lifted her head to better look at him. A cat-like grin spread across her lips. “So eager to learn you lost?”

Petyr didn’t respond to her antagonizing, only pressed a finger to her breast and said, “Thirty: Sex in public.” He touched the heart on her belly. “Plus twenty-six: intoxicated in a public place while I kissed and fingered you. That’s fifty-six so far.”

Sansa smirked and touched her hand to the heart on his hip. “Cockring, assplay, and oral while high. Fifty points.”  

“No, forty. I wasn’t high for that,” he disagreed.

“Yes, we were.”

Petyr pursed his lips. “Believe me, I was way too sober for where your finger went.”

Sansa smirked. “Fine. Forty.” She kissed his jaw. “Only because you look so shell-shocked.”

“Nine years together and you never once explored that particular territory.” He coughed a little for emphasis.

She shrugged. “It’s not my preference, but I wanted to win so it was worth keeping a wet wipe or two in my bag.”

“Mm,” he agreed. “Too bad we didn’t have anyone to tie up and torture for the occasion.”

Sansa smirked. “The dead bodies did help. How did you come up with so many last minute?”

He almost didn’t want to say, but knew he had to. “I called the Reeds before we left the restaurant.”

“ _Cheater_ _!_ ” She exclaimed.

Petyr smirked, neither agreeing or arguing with her statement before he looked down and traced his finger over the horizontal scar below her belly. He’d drawn a heart there with the number sixty-five written inside. “Plus sixty-five: Oral, on ecstacy, in a car, parked on the top floor of the parking garage--that counts as a public place _and_ a roof, during roleplay.” He bit the inside of his cheek to contain his excitement as he pointed out, “Totalling one hundred and twenty-one, _so far_.”

“Bullshit,” she argued. “I do not remember a roleplay.”

“That’s okay, I’ll remember for the both of us because we most certainly did roleplay,” he chuckled.

Sansa shook her head. “Petyr, we did not.”

He nodded slowly, his dimples deepening.

“Okay, fine.” She threw her hands up. “If we really did, then what was the roleplay?”

Petyr had to take a breath to tame the laugh that threatened to cut off his explanation. “Sleazy valet and rich heiress with a drug problem.”    

Her eyes bulged, and her jaw dropped through a surprised laugh. “Wow. Was I even aware we were pretending?”

“You should have been. I did rip the bowtie off the valet as we left, fixed it to my own collar and said, _Allow me to bring the car around Miss Sansa_.” Petyr snickered. “You played with my new uniform and said you’d come with me.”

She laughed, “Because I was going to fuck you in the parking garage.”

“I know,” he grinned. “And I was about to let you when I decided you already got too many points under the table at dinner. Which, out of curiosity, how much was that worth anyway? Twenty-five?”

“Thirty, cause of the cumshot,” she corrected.

Petyr rubbed his thumb affectionately over her chin. “Mm, that’s right. We can’t leave that out.”

“Definitely, not.” She shook her head in mock seriousness. “You were saying?”

“Well, I gave you a baggy of E and told you it slipped out of your purse--see how it suddenly became yours that way? You drug-addicted heiress, you.” He winked at her, his grin threatening to break his face. “Then we got in the car and instead of leaving, I took us to the roof of the garage.”

“I remember that!” She exclaimed. “I took a hit and then sprinkled it on the inside of my thigh for you to run your nose over before I started dragging your face _over me_.” Sansa bit her bottom lip in mild embarrassment. “Sorry if I was a bit...enthusiastic.”

Petyr made a show of rubbing his nose. “That’s okay. It’ll heal eventually.”

Sansa ignored his supposed injury. “But you were seriously pretending to be a valet all that time?” She asked, more than a little amused.

“Yes, and it was worth the extra ten points.” He kissed her chin and gloated, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m ahead.”

Sansa pulled back and gave him a self-satisfied smile. He shivered when he felt the very tip of her finger tickled the top of his scar. “For now you are.” It slowly slid down over his mended flesh. “I still have so much more to count.”

Petyr glanced down to see that in addition to randomly placed hearts all over his body, Sansa had made a chain of them that traveled the entire length of his scar.

God, she was fucking perfect. He leaned forward, and let a slow and enduring kiss serve as any answer or response she may have expected him to give. The water had almost run cold by the time they’d finally finished counting the indelible lovemarks they’d made on each other’s bodies. Goosebumps covered Sansa, her teeth chattering as she proudly exclaimed, “I won!” She bit her lip and giggled. “You cheated, and I still won.”

“Well, it’s no wonder.” He kissed her neck and teased her ear. “You spent enough time on your knees last night.”

She slapped his chest. “Sore loser.”

He dropped his hand down between them and cupped himself, thoroughly used from the night before. “I am sore, and it looks like I did lose--this time. But I can say with full confidence that it’s a pain I’d gladly suffer again.”  

Her hand dropped to his, pulling it from him and placing it to the cleft between her legs. “If it’s any consolation, I’m a bit tender too. It was quite a night.”

Petyr stroked the thatch of hair that accented intimate flesh inflamed both by abuse from the night before and the hot shower they were standing in. “It was. And it will continue to be, every Valentine’s.”  

“You agree? It can be our new tradition?” She asked, her eyes alight.

How could he refuse her when she looked at him like that? So hopeful. It was difficult to feign disinterest and keep a straight face as he said, “Only if you won’t be too disappointed.”

“ _Disappointed?_ ” She leaned back and cocked a doubtful brow at him.

Not appreciating the sudden distance between them, he wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and tugged her back against him. Sansa giggled and snaked her hands up over his shoulders and around his neck. He feathered light kisses on her cheek and whispered, “You only gave me the points values that morning.”

“So?” She threw her head back grinning and he was quick to take advantage of how exposed her neck was to assault, covering it in kisses.

He smiled into her as he explained, “If we do this again next Valentine’s, I will have had an entire year to study and strategize.” Her fingers dug into his hair, massaging him and keeping him from lifting his head. Petyr closed his eyes, allowing her to guide him as he nuzzled deeper into her. “To think of all the many different combinations of things I plan to do to your body in order to win.”

Sansa gasped at his sinful words and though she’d said she was sore, she pressed the entirety of her soft body against his, coaxing an equal measure of ache in his groin. His voice grew husky as he promised, “There won’t be a square inch on your body free of ink.”

She moaned, “ _Yes, please_ _,_ ” into his mouth and just like that, the Baelishes had discovered a new Valentine’s Day tradition.  

 

 


	24. Blurring A Man's Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabble in Petyr's POV that was generated from an "ask" on Tumblr. It's a conversation between him and Varys that takes place between chapter 16 and 17 of Fall of the Pride. (Now that I have my power back from the storm, I could add it here for increased reading accessibility)

Varys stood before Petyr, wiping blood from his hand. “He said they’ve already eaten today.”

Petyr would have inquired about the blood, except that Varys often stepped down from his position to handle situations directly. “To which you responded?”

“That I’ve never known an alligator to turn down a meal.”

Petyr smirked.

“He then told me that it was crocodiles he harbored, not as he called them, _gators_.” Varys gave a martyred sigh. “I think he’s still disappointed over his daughter and Bran.”

“So you don’t think the meeting was all that helpful?” Petyr asked. He’d personally thought that it had gone much better than expected. Whatever uncertainty lay at home with Sansa, they were at least able to maintain a good front for the families.

Varys poured himself a scotch and raised the decanter in offering. Petyr waved it off. He’d had too much to drink of late as it was, and thought it best to give it a bit of a rest. When Sansa came home, he’d cut back. Now that he’d moved her to his bed as opposed to the guest room, he really felt the need to clean up his act.

“I think it helped that people saw you and Sansa together again, wearing your rings. Her dragging you off with terms of endearment at the end was a nice touch, too.” Varys sipped his drink and sighed, “But, there’s still a lot of repair work to be done.”

 _Tell me about it_ , Petyr thought to himself, though not only in regards to business. “Did Reed comply, or not?”

“He did.”

“Then I don’t see the issue.” Petyr pursed his lips.

Varys fiddled with the contents of his pocket before asking, “You don’t see it? Or, you don’t want to see it?”

Petyr inhaled deeply and dragged his gaze up to meet his, tightening his jaw in frustration. Varys raised the hand from his pocket in surrender. “I’m not pushing, only bringing it to your attention.”

“Shall I be offended you didn’t assume I was already quite aware?” Petyr warned.

Varys smiled wryly, appreciation in his voice as he said, “Sansa has a way of blurring a man’s vision.”

“First I was offended, now I’m meant to be jealous?” Petyr quipped, deflecting. “Varys, I’m getting whiplash here. Switching teams all of a sudden?”

He scrunched his face in disgust and shook his head. “ _Ew_.” He downed the rest of his drink quickly, as if to wash the taste of an imagined pussy from his mouth. After a brief cough he set his glass on the desk and said, “No need to be so cruel.”

Petyr chuckled at that, feeling his cheeks pull into a painful grin. How long had it been since he smiled? A real one. Not allowing himself to think on it too long, he composed himself. “I appreciate you handling the Missandei situation. Bodies are always such a pain to dispose of.”

“All in a day’s work.” Varys waved the matter off. “It’s a shame though. Missandei would have been a great source of information.” He then paused and eyed Petyr. “And she was quite a pretty girl, wasn’t she?”

Petyr wondered what he was getting at. He shrugged, nonchalant. “Was she? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sansa did.”

Petyr stared back at him. Yes, she had, and she’d killed her for it. He felt so valued then, standing in the wake of her jealous rage. He wondered if his hurtful words prior were what pushed Sansa over the edge. Or, if perhaps she would have done away with her rival regardless. Not to say that Missandei of all people, was Sansa’s rival–or that anyone could be.

What did Missandei have? One well-placed friend and a pretty smile. Getting past the information he planned to ply from her, her beauty simply didn’t compare. While he hadn’t ever truly felt her touch, he was certain it was lackluster next to Sansa.

As a rule, cocks craved cunts, not caring to note any difference from the one they were chasing or the one that came before. Warm and wet were the only real requirements. Love changed everything however, making him desire Sansa over all else. It didn’t help any that she felt nothing short of divine and worked hard to keep herself up. He’d almost lost his control in the car, anxious to touch and feel her body in his hands.

She was so willing, wrapping her arms around him and spreading her legs. When the scent of her arousal hit him, he was consumed by the desire to sink deep into her, feel her completely encase him. God, she always cradled him so snug inside herself, even after Elenei. Sansa kegeled her way back to the perfect cunt, and it commanded his undivided attention.

His hands had been steadily advancing on her thighs and judging by the eager sounds she made as she opened herself further to him, she was aching for it too. She wanted him to fill her, stretch her till she gasped to breathe, finding no room even for air in her lungs. Hell, if seven years of marriage told him anything, she was just dying to ruin him with each flex and squeeze.

And then he’d be hurt all over again. She would tame him with her sex and he’d be as vulnerable as the day she left him. Petyr had definitely come close to succumbing in the car, but managed not to at the irritating little voice in his head. It reminded him how clueless he apparently was in regards to knowing her particular brand of  _kink_.

If they were ever going to move on, he would have to eventually give in to his desire for her. Petyr would have to open himself up and take the risk, but that didn’t mean he had to today. He simply wasn’t ready for that yet. Fuck vulnerability. He could live on his side of the bed a little longer.

Glancing up at Varys, he was suddenly very aware if the erection scraping against his zipper. He would need to address that before bed, musing that Sansa might take advantage if she spied it. In his weakened state, he might let her, and then regret it later. “Was there anything else, Varys?”


	25. Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV -- 20yrs of marriage, so 13yrs after Pride

“I don’t like this.” 

Sansa sighed through the phone. “I don’t either.” 

The solution was simple. “Then come home.” 

“Petyr, you know I can’t. There’s no use pouting over it.”

While that was true, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Home is not home without you.” 

“I feel the same when you’re away too.” 

He chuckled doubtfully as he walked, mindlessly searching the end tables and their drawer for what, he didn’t know. “I can’t find anything at all.” 

“Then fire the maid.” She sounded more exasperated. “I don’t keep track of your shit, Petyr. Never have. So if you can’t find something, fire the people who do.” 

Petyr stood silent, feeling a touch of guilt for pushing her. Her voice was softer this time. “It’s one week. It’s her graduation present. She was too young to go on her own.” 

He almost didn’t say it, but couldn’t stifle the impulse. “Then maybe we should have gotten her another present.” 

Another sigh followed. 

Before she could say it, he did. “I know. It’s all she wanted.” 

Sansa spoke away from the phone, ordering another drink from some hot young cabana boy, he was sure. Her voice grew louder as she turned back into the phone. “Have you killed anyone? Stolen anything? It usually helps.” 

He didn’t have anything planned until later in the evening. Determined to be downtrodden, Petyr antagonized her. “No, Sansa. Having you home would help.” 

There was a long silence, much longer than the one earlier. Finally, she broke it. “I don’t understand why you’re having such a hard time with this. We’ve had to go a week apart while you’ve taken trips for our business concerns.” Her voice hardened as she added, “And much longer than that when you went to jail.” 

Ouch. She was still bitter about that. 

“That wasn't exactly by choice, and it actually ended up being good for business,” he defended. 

She huffed, “Lots of things are good for business, Petyr.” 

Seeing an opportunity to lighten the mood, he smirked. “You loved the conjugal visits.”

“I swear, I will reach through this phone and--”

“ _ And _ , if I remember correctly, you went to school during that time. It’s not as if you sat at home dying of depression without me,” Petyr countered quickly, drawing the attention back to his current plight. 

She chuckled. “It was one semester. This is a week. Actually, it’s only four more days. Definitely not enough time to martyr yourself.”

Petyr pursed his lips. “Each time, it was me that was leaving and you that was staying.” His eyes traveled the empty room around him. The house suddenly felt so overwhelmingly large without his girls home. 

“Is it that you’re bored at home?” The change in her voice told him that he’d reached her. “Where’s Durran?”

Petyr turned to walk towards his bedroom. If his home felt too large, he would make it smaller, sequestering himself off to the northern part of the house. “Out with friends.” He picked up a book off his nightstand and scowled into the phone. “And no, I’m not bored. It’s just…” 

He stared at their big empty bed and the words escaped him. 

“It’s just what?” 

He plopped down on the bed, sighing. “The last time I had to live here without you was when you  _ left _ .” He’d managed to avoid being home alone overnight for thirteen years following the hellish separation they’d suffered. 

“Oh, Petyr!” Her voice was suddenly filled with sympathy. “Petyr, this isn’t like that. Not even close!” 

“I know.” 

“I’m coming back. You know that,” she assured him.

“I know.” 

Seeming not to believe him, she continued, “And I didn’t leave because I was mad or upset. I left only to supervise Elenei.”

“Sansa, I know.” It was nice of her to try to comfort him, but she wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already been trying to reason himself with. He fell back on the bed and stared up at the mirrored ceiling. “I just miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

Her voice tickled his ears and stirred a need he wasn’t exactly proud of, but wouldn’t work to hard to ignore either. He kicked his shoes off as his voice deepened. “And I _ miss  _ you.”

“Oh,” she answered, realizing the direction he was taking the conversation. She whispered into the phone. “Have you been using the lotion?” 

“Yes.” He leaned over and grabbed the tube off the nightstand. Snapping it open, he brought it up to his nose, inhaling her signature scent. 

“What about the videos?” 

Petyr grabbed the remote and typed in the access code to their special collection of videos and scrolled quickly through various thumbnails until he found one of Sansa in pigtails with her lips around his cock. He pressed play and muted the television, growing hard against the confines of his pants as he watched a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes blink up at him, cheeks drawn in suction. “They help,” he admitted. “But you help more.” 

There was a pause before she asked in a hushed tone, “Would you like me to help you now?”

All too ready to accept her assistance, he set the phone in the crook of his neck and unbuckled his pants. He let them fall to the floor and shimmied out of his boxers, his semi-erection free to bob in the open air. “What do you have in mind?” 

“Memory or fantasy?” 

Petyr pulled his shirt off over his head, his dick twitching in anticipation of all the delightful scenarios. He climbed in bed and squeezed some of her lotion out on his palm before taking himself in hand, feeling just how firm he’d become. “Just talk to me, Sansa. I need your voice.” 

“Mm, okay. You want to hear me tell you what I’m going to do once I get home?” She teased. 

“Yes,” he answered giving himself a squeeze before he let his grip slide down his shaft from tip to base. 

“The minute I get home, I’m going to strip naked and find you.” 

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he promised, his strokes growing more steady. 

“Mm, I know. I’m going to check every room of the house, completely naked and ready for you. When I find you, I’m going to strip you bare so I can kiss you from balls to chin.” She grinned devilishly into the phone. 

A shiver ran through him at the image in his head of her crouched over him, pressing messy kisses all over his body. “I’d like that.” 

“You would, you naughty boy,” she teased. “If you’re good I’ll let you finger me while I do it.” 

“I want to fuck you,” he insisted, his hips rocking up into his hand.

She chuckled. “Then you’ll be patient and let me admire your body first. Or else I’ll keep my pussy all to myself.” 

“No!” His grip got firmer.

“No?” She laughed. “You gonna take it if I don’t give it?” 

His jaw tightened as he concentrated on the need his fist was nurturing. “Yes.” 

“Yeah? You know I’d like that, don’t you? If you stopped me from running my tongue over your hard cock, so you could take control and fuck me. Handcuff me if you have to. Bend me over and force my legs apart so you can see my pink pussy staring back at you.”

“ _ Whose pussy? _ ” He growled into the phone. His hand worked faster, each muscle in his body flexing. The tip of his cock, bright red and throbbing for release. 

“ _ Yours _ ,” she breathed.

He watched the television at the foot of the bed. Her tongue stuck out, a white pool of his cum in the center of it. “Good girl.” His eyes fluttered shut listening to her breathing and the obscene sound of his lotioned cock sliding back and forth in his grip. All the blood flow in his body filled the head of his dick, turning red to purple under the strain. 

Her voice grew pouty as she confessed, “I keep thinking of all the things we’ve done to each other and I tingle and ache for you. I squeeze a little to try to ease it, but it feels so empty without you inside.”    

“I’m so close,” he warned, clenching his jaw.

“Good,” she purred. “I want to hear you come.”

Just as his lips tightened to a little “ _ O _ ,” the sensation so euphoric it was excruciating, he heard her hiss, “Shit! Elenei’s back.”

No. 

Fuck, no. 

He couldn’t stop.  _ Wouldn’t _ stop. His hand worked him feverishly as his hips bucked of their own volition. He barely heard Sansa explain, “Just talking to Daddy.” 

Elenei’s distant voice said, “Hey, Dad!”

Fuck. 

Petyr groaned into the phone, unable to find words. A pearly white bead of precum teasing him to the main attraction. Sansa’s innocent voice responded, “He says Hi.”

“ _ Ahh! _ ” Petyr exclaimed as every atom in his body imploded. Warmth washed over him in waves that coaxed the tension from his muscles allowing him to sink back into the bed as large ropes of cum flowed freely, streaming down his shaft and over his knuckles. 

Sansa’s voice carried on a fake conversation with him. “Yes, I agree. You look best in the green one. Then we’ll have it laundered. No. I don’t think taking the dry-cleaning is part of the maid’s responsibilities. I know. I think it should be too. Well, Petyr, she does have a family to consider. Oh, now you’re just being a bit brash about it.” 

He coughed a few times catching his breath as he chuckled at the facade she was putting up for their daughter. “You’re perfect.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re coming to your senses.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m going for a dip. Talk to your daughter.”

Before he could protest, Elenei’s voice filled the receiver. “You should go easy on the help, Dad. They don’t know things are their job if you don’t tell them.” 

“You’re right.” He tried to sound natural, grabbing a sheet to clean himself with. 

“You sound out of breath. Is everything okay?” Elenei asked, her voice riddled with concern.

Petyr stood up and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Princess. I was just...exercising.” 

“Oh, trying to get in shape for when Mum gets home, huh? Eww.” Elenei grimaced over the phone. “That’s okay, don’t feel bad. She’s totally working on herself too. Getting a tan.” 

“Tan?” Petyr asked as he stripped the sheets from the bed. Sansa was a natural redhead, the woman didn’t tan, she burned.

Elenei laughed. “Yeah, it’s something about the sun down here. She’s using all these lotions and laying out by the pool sipping fruity drinks. You should take her back here for your anniversary.” 

It was only a few months away. 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Petyr admitted. He dropped the bedding in the laundry basket as he considered a tan on Sansa. Very quickly his mind wandered to tan lines. Did she have them? If she didn’t, that meant she was sunbathing naked. She damn well better have them. “How are you enjoying your trip?” He asked Elenei quickly to take his mind off the prospect.

“We’re having so much fun! And I’ve made a couple new friends down here, that have been showing me all the coolest touristy places.” 

“Boyfriends or girlfriends?” Petyr asked, noticing the enthusiasm with which she discussed these new friends. 

Elenei laughed, “Bit of both--don’t judge.” 

Petyr sighed, “I’m glad you’re having fun, Princess.” 

“Oh! They’re setting up the limbo poles. Gotta go!” 

The line disconnected. Petyr stared down at his phone, more than a little put out that limbo poles took precedence over a conversation with her father. He chalked it up to her age and padded over to his bathroom to clean up properly. Before he turned the faucet on, he sent Sansa a quick text, needing to know.  _ Tan lines? _

He readied the shower as he waited for her response.

_ She told you. _

Of course she did. Why wouldn't she?

_ Y _ _ es, I have them. Is that a problem? _

Relieved, he typed back,  _ Not at all.  _

Her response was quick.  _ Good, cause I was hoping you could trace them with your tongue when I get back.  _

Dimples flared in his cheeks as he set the phone down. It was definitely going to be a long shower. 

  
  
  



	26. Naughty Nothings & Messy Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both P & S povs -- 14yrs of marriage -- kids are school age

_I’m horny._

Sansa’s phone vibrated an almost instant response. _Enough so to make a movie?_

She smiled at that.

Petyr was going to be leaving for a few days to better conduct negotiations overseas. The children still weren’t old enough to stay home alone, especially not overnight, so Sansa decided to stay back. Needless to say, her opinions on the matter were made known.

Since deciding to take a business trip, Petyr had been looking for opportunities to make it up to her--and add to their private video collection.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she walked down the hall to his office. _Yes. But only if we can play a game first._

_Which one?_

Andar Royce, was sitting across from Petyr, explaining his recent issue with customs as Sansa walked through the door. Petyr’s eyes lit when he saw her standing there, barefoot in a bright yellow sundress. It had been a lazy summer morning, one in which she couldn’t be bothered to do much of anything and slightly resented the fact that they had company.

Andar was the the oldest of Bronzy’s boys and hands down the most charismatic. He had a penchant for gambling and had gotten the name ‘Vegas’ shortly after his nineteenth birthday when he placed an obscenely large bet, lost, and somehow dragged himself out of Vegas alive. It was no doubt those skills as well as his birth order that made him take the lead in Bronzy’s stead.

“Hello, Andar. Can I get you a drink?” Sansa played at civility.

“No. Thank you,” he responded politely, his eyes darting between her and Petyr. It was clear he didn’t appreciate the distraction.

Tough shit.

Sansa turned to the hutch and asked over her shoulder, “What are _we_ drinking?”

No one need ask who the ‘we’ she was referring to was. As she waited for Petyr’s response, she typed, _Naughty Nothings_.

It was a perverted twist on the phrase, ‘Sweet Nothings.’ Mild flirtation whispered in the target’s ear. Sansa’s version was naturally, much more depraved. One person listened while the other whispered explicit sexual content in their ear. As if that was not immoral enough, she particularly enjoyed doing so with an audience. The challenge lie in how long Petyr could last before sending the innocent bystander away so he could ravage her against the closest available surface. Loss of control was such a turn on and the teasing never seemed to lose its appeal.

His voice was velvet as he chose the drink that complimented his passion. “Whiskey.”

“As I was saying, Mr. Baelish-”

Sansa eyed the various decanters, not listening. She could feel Petyr’s eyes boring into her back while she took her time placing the ice in the rocks glass and poured the liquid, a beautiful shade of amber.

Petyr had been staring at her ass as she stood back-to, fixing their drink. He knew she’d share the drink with him, rather than make separate ones. She always shared drinks when she was feeling naughty, as if touching their lips to the same glass was as scandalous as even just half of what they did together.

“-make it difficult to get the product through customs.” If Andar knew Petyr wasn’t paying attention, he was a good enough man not to point it out.

Sansa turned around, a smile spread across her lips and a drink in her hand. She was a vision. One made slightly better once he realized she lacked a bra. His mind wandered to the next most obvious question: Was she wearing any panties?

With both children well into school-age, Sansa told herself she was too old to sashe. That didn’t mean her legs were willing to listen to her agest shaming of them. Her hips moved of their own accord as she allowed the balls of her feet to touch down on the hardwood floor first with each step.

Petyr tracked her movements with his eyes, appreciating the warm glow she had about her. Whether it was due to the time of year combined with a relaxing morning, or simply because she knew that very shortly she’d be getting off, he wasn’t sure. He supposed that didn’t matter, and raised his hand from the arm of the chair, a silent invitation.

Sansa had planned to sit in his lap and his raised hand only cemented her decision. Andar continued to talk, inserting an elongated pause here and there as he visibly doubted they were listening. Though their attentiveness was superficial at best, he probably wouldn’t allow himself to squander the rare occasion that he had to talk with Petyr. It made sense that he would try to push on.

Petyr would say nothing either way. The majority of his attention was on Sansa, but he knew he had to give Andar at least some minute amount for him to stay put. Andar was destined to be their bystander.

The warm weight of her settled in his lap and smiled at Andar. Petyr let his hand grip her hip, securing her in place and said, “You make some interesting points. Sansa, what are your thoughts?”

She eyed Andar and then leaned into Petyr’s ear and whispered, “That I wanna play _dirty_ today. I want you to make me _messy_.”

Andar glanced between the two of them. “Hmm,” Petyr maintained eye contact with him as he responded more so to Sansa. “I agree, though I’m going to need some ideas for implementation.”

“Not a problem,” Andar spoke quickly, obviously feeling encouraged. “We were thinking-”

Quick to give Sansa another opportunity to whisper naughty nothings in his ear, Petyr clarified, “I meant from my wife.”

Sansa shrugged innocently at Andar and then leaned further into Petyr. “I put our vibrator in the top right drawer of your desk. Use it on me, please? It’s always better when you do it.”

She said, ‘our vibrator’ because it had become as much his as it was hers. She hardly ever used it without him, finding it much more stimulating when in his hands than her own. He inhaled to calm the stir of his cock at her words and ever the showman, he wore a solemn expression for Andar. “I see.”

“What?” Andar asked. “Excuse me, what do you see? Perhaps if you shared your thoughts with me, we could work-”

Sansa turned back into Petyr’s ear without any cue and quietly teased, “I can’t wait to hold your rock-hard cock, and milk it into my mouth.”

The idea of her doing just that popped into his head and with it a million images of Sansa’s face between his legs, batting her eyelashes, luscious lips wrapped around him. He knew she could feel the bulge in his pants, and fought the urge to build something more out of it. This was a game that he was supposed to lose and would gladly do so, however, his pride demanded that she have to work for it a little.

And work for it, she did. Sansa turned her head a little more, looking back over Petyr’s shoulder to obscure their bystander’s view. He was prepared for the litany of sinful words she was more than capable of offering. He was not, however, prepared for a more tactile experience thrown into the mix. Petyr’s fingers dug into her hip, grounding himself in the tension and tingle she created with the tip of her tongue. It was warm and wet and traced the outside of his earlobe, coaxing him to shiver for her.

Petyr flashed his eyes over to Andar, determined to maintain his composure. He silently counted to three before he spoke of business. “Sansa reminded me of the last time you requested assistance with customs.”

Not needing any further explanation, Andar closed his eyes and raised his hands. “And I take full accountability for that. Though it still turned a profit-” He pointed his finger up at the ceiling, too smart to point it at anyone in the room. “I will remind you. In retrospect, it was not as organized as it should have been.”

Sansa made it a point to play with the two hair ties on her wrist, not only letting Petyr know they were there, but that there was two. His pants felt two sizes too small in the crotch. She sounded bored as she corrected Royce. “It was a shit-show.”

Petyr smirked and made it a point to rub his thumb back and forth over her hip. She was growing frustrated. Sansa only got so blunt when she wanted to be done with someone already. Despite the uncomfortable erection he suffered, Petyr wasn’t breaking as soon as she’d expected him to and it was taking its toll on her decorum.

“And I’m not denying that,” Andar conceded.

Petyr pressed on, wondering which Baelish would call ‘uncle’ first. “How will this time be different?”

Andar wet his lips and straightened his tie. “Well, we have an insider that we didn’t have before and the carriers we’re using are of a-”

Sansa returned to Petyr’s ear as their bystander spoke. Her voice husky as it offered, “I’ll give you complete control. _Sir._ ”

His jaw tightened. What had been uncomfortable was now painful, his dick finding the sharp metal teeth of his zipper.

“We just need some more influence when it comes to the foreign soil, and I know you’ve been working on our relations,” Andars finished.

In a subtle show of submission, Sansa swiveled in Petyr’s lap, her heat leaving his thigh so she could snuggle her ass further back against him as she leaned over the desk. He let his hand move from her hip, knowing their new position obstructed Andar’s view, and press against her backside. She laid her palms on the desk in emphasis and spoke easily as if he wasn’t groping her ass at the same time. “You know anytime we extend ourselves we get a larger cut than usual.”

Once Petyr found the dip between her cheeks, he let his fingers follow it down through the material of her dress and her panties, pleased to see his fly directly under it in the perfect line. He flexed his thighs under her, his groin lifting slightly to drag against her core.

“Understandable. What were you thinking?”

“Twenty above regular,” Petyr answered from around Sansa.

She looked over her shoulder, giving him a flirtatious smile before turning back to Royce. The man had paled a little at the figure. “ _Twenty_? That’s a little more than what we had planned…”

Sansa sat back, the slide over Petyr specifically meant to torture. She turned into his ear again and whispered, “Please, Sir. If you don’t want me, may I go to the bathroom and touch myself?”

That did it. The need he’d been trying to temper boiled over and he wanted nothing more than to come and see her come. His grip tightened on her as he all but growled at Andar, “That’s my offer. It expires in twenty-four hours.”

Andar cursed under his breath. “We accept. Lets get started on planning.”

“You should verify that all the Royces feel this way before you speak for them,” Sansa advised.

“Yes,” Petyr agreed. “ _Go_ , discuss.”

“That’s not necessary.” Andar shook his head and gave a slight smile. “I speak for them. I am afforded the leeway to make these decisions in the moment.”

Sansa gave a quiet whine that only Petyr could hear. She was just as desperate and needy for him as he was for her. He lacked the patience to talk Andar out of his office so he simply commanded, “ _Leave_.”

Andar’s eyes widened as he looked for words. “Uh...okay.”

“We’ll be in touch tomorrow.” Sansa grinned as she watched him slowly retreat.

He left the door open, but that didn’t matter. No one else was home anyway, except for a maid or two. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t walked in on intimate moments. They were well trained enough to either quietly close the door upon encountering them, or avert their gaze and keep walking.

“Take off your panties and give them to me.”

The deep, commanding nature of Petyr’s voice sent her blood rushing in anticipation. “Yes, Sir,” she answered as she rose from his lap and handed him their glass. A jolt of excitement struck low in her belly when she pulled her panties down, the damp material peeling off her skin.

He downed the drink, feeling the alcohol burn his chest while he accepted the scrap of material from her. His fingers found the wet spot as he asked, “Did you shave?” He was unable to see under the sundress, but was not yet of a mind to have her remove that. It didn’t matter to him either way, he just always liked the surprise of what he would find under her panties.

She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

Something in the way she looked when she answered in her playfully submissive way, made him ask, “Why not?”

She stood in front of him, picking at the hem of her dress with a particularly innocent and vulnerable look as she admitted, “Because you didn’t give me permission to.”

Fuck.

Excitement rippled the length of him. With nowhere else to go, it pooled in the sensitive tip of his cock, straining to be freed. Unable to allow such suffocation to continue, he began unfastening his belt. Sansa chewed her lip in front of him, her hands worrying the material of her dress. He knew what she was doing with her innocent act. Each time her hand gripped the bottom of her dress, the neckline lowered and her nipples stood out against the fabric. They were tiny beacons calling to him, promising the lush pussy below was primed and ready for him.

Too bad she put him in the mood for something else. Remembering the two hair ties on her wrist, he unzipped his fly as he said. “I want handlebars.”

She wasted no time throwing her hair up into messy pigtails and started to crouch between his knees, but stopped herself. “May I get on my knees, Sir?”

He ignored her question at first, too focused on shimmying his pants down his thighs, his hard cock bobbing in the air as he did. She licked her lips, eyeing the little bead of precum decorating the bright red tip. When the waist of his pants reached his knees, they fell down to his ankles. Completely unhindered, Petyr palmed his erection and gave himself a couple of tugs. “You may.”

Sansa sunk down to the floor between his knees and looked up at him, not daring to touch without his approval. “May I ask for something?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

“Can I see your scar?” She watched him pull back insistently on his shaft. “Please? It’s sexy.”

He knew she liked looking at it, touching, kissing, and tasting it. Her asking him for it was part of her act, but her wanting it wasn’t. Petyr smiled as he said, “Unbutton my shirt.”

Sansa reached for the buttons of his shirt, her chest dragging over his cock when she leaned forward. Petyr groaned as he rubbed against her breasts and caught the neckline of her dress. She smiled proudly at his reaction and pressed a kiss to one of the angrier looking sections of his scar. “Seeing it makes me so wet,” she confessed.

She’d told him before that when she looked at his scar, she saw power. It served as some sort of proof that he couldn’t be killed, and she liked the idea of being linked to someone who was not subject to the laws of nature.

Petyr reached for his desk and grabbed the remote off of it. He quickly selected the camera that was in the back left corner of his office, the one that looked over his shoulder and zoomed it in to get a better view of Sansa.

“Which camera are we using?”

He pointed to the correct one and turned a little in his chair, scooting her over more. Sansa smiled up at the zoomed in video feed and waved. She then spoke to it as if he weren’t there at all. “I miss you so much!” He chuckled at how she played to his future viewing self. She winked before she added, “I can’t wait to do this again.”

Without having to be told, she turned her head back to face him and asked, “May I please suck your cock, Sir?”

Petyr brought her panties to his nose and inhaled the musky scent on them. “You may.”

Sansa ran her tongue over his length before she covered him with her mouth and sucked in. Petyr groaned involuntarily and saw her cheeks dimple as she bobbed her head. “You like making me happy, don’t you?”

She nodded her head as she worked.

“That’s why you’re such a good girl, Sansa. Always so eager to please,” he praised. Curious if she would taste the same on cotton, he licked the wet spot she left on her panties. “Mm, and you taste good too. Though, it’s still better from the source.”

More dimples appeared on her cheeks, her lips tightening around him as she ran over his saliva-slick shaft. After a couple more laps, she pulled from him and asked, “May I use my hands, Sir?”

Petyr pressed his dick back towards her mouth, running it across her lips as he asked, “What would you use them for?”

She gave the taut flesh in front of her a peck of a kiss and answered, “To massage your balls. You usually like that, and I like feeling them when they’re tight and aroused.”

“You may,” he allowed before dropping her panties to the floor and gripping her pigtails. One of her hands cupped his balls, gently squeezing and releasing, while the other wrapped around his cock close to the base. Her fingers pressed into the large vein that ran along the underside of his shaft and her tongue flicked his tip. He was assaulted from all angles and his head lolled back giving into the pleasure she brought him.

Sansa felt his hands grip her pigtails and guide her rhythm. Petyr could be rough in a lot of things when they both wanted, but he was never so when it came to head. He respected both her gifts and limitations in that area and used no force whenever he held her head or hair. She appreciated that about him and it made her work harder to take more of him in.

He wasn’t going to last long, and he knew it. Her teasing had taken a toll on him, as much as he hid it. His thighs flexed as he fought the urge to rock up into her mouth. He looked down at her, eyes closed as she bobbed her head, spit peeked out of the corners of her mouth and drizzled down his cock. Unfazed, Sansa worked the moisture into her massage of his balls, letting her thumb occasionally press against the seam of flesh that if traveled far enough would have lead to his ass.

She opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking how far he’d like her to journey. Petyr appreciated the courtesy. “Just one finger.”

Sansa nodded and ran her hand over his slick cock, wetting her finger. She kept her other hand on his balls still, rubbing and squeezing, while she again trailed over his taint, following the curve to the pucker of flesh not often explored. Petyr lifted his hips, sucking in breath through his teeth as he stared down at her messy red pigtails, blushing concave cheeks, and sharp blue eyes staring back at him. “ _Fuck, Sansa_ ,” he cursed as her fingertip burrowed past the point of most resistance.

It was as if her finger was caught in a vice, squeezed so tight in her husband’s ass. At the sound of his pleasure, she grinned around his cock, letting saliva drip down onto her dress. She sucked back whatever she could, and pushed her finger in deeper. “ _Jesus_ ,” Petyr groaned as she probed for the right spot to press.

He suddenly bucked up, ramming his dick down her throat as he did. “ _Shit,_ ” he exclaimed by way of apology when she choked and coughed. It was obvious that he couldn’t help it, so her finger did not relent, knowing he’d come hard from it.

Petyr couldn’t catch his breath, his hands tightening on her pigtails, and reminding himself not to use the leverage he had to fuck her face, forgetting her jaw. It was definitely difficult to resist with the expert way she was working him. There hadn’t been a moment in the past fourteen years that he hadn’t found her to be his perfect match, particularly sexually.

The thought coupled with the stimulation, amplified everything. “I’m gonna come,” he warned. Sansa kicked up the speed, on a mission to drink him down. He shook his head in protest. “Don’t swallow.”

She didn’t hesitate, bobbing her head up and down faster and faster, the suction harder and harder. “Do you hear me?” He panted feeling as if his heart would burst out of his chest. “ _Don’t swall-_ ”

He hadn’t even gotten the word out before the tension in his body snapped and the first hot stream of many shot free. Sansa kept the perfect seal around his cock, containing the explosion in her mouth. When she felt the pulse between her lips slow and Petyr start to sink back in his seat, still struggling to catch his breath, she pulled her head back and rose from the floor. Her knees were not as tolerant as they used to be.

Petyr slowly regained control of his breathing as he looked at the wall of yellow fabric that covered Sansa’s stomach. His eyes traveled up over the soft mounds of her breasts, noting the hardened peaks that remained, up to her smile. “Did you swallow?” He asked.

Rather than voice her response, Sansa shook her head no.

“Good girl,” he praised, sitting up in his seat, ignoring the softened cock that stuck to his thigh. “Show me.”

Sansa opened her mouth, careful not to lose any of its contents. Petyr eyed the pool of cloudy white cum that covered her tongue and spilled over her teeth. Some had slid to the back of her throat, but she’d been able to keep most of it for him.

“Good. Keep it right there. Don’t swallow it.” Petyr tapped his lap in invitation. “Come sit down so I can take care of you.”

Sansa stepped a barefoot over the pants around Petyr’s ankles and gingerly sat down on one of his thighs. It was difficult not to automatically swallow, her mouth feeling so full. Petyr wrapped one arm around her to hold her in place as his other arm picked at one of the straps on her dress. The material started to pull down, uncovering a breast. The open air felt glorious, her rosy pink nipple standing at attention and begging him to take it into his mouth. She fought a grin, afraid she’d swallow, if she did.

Petyr eyed the nipple in front of him and asked, “Would you like me to play with your tit?”

Fuck.

She couldn’t respond. Sansa’s eyebrows wrinkled in desperation and she rocked forward a little in his lap, trying to show him in some way that she wanted him to. His smile was much too smug for her patience. “Good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

She shook when he took her nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it quickly before he explained. “Too smart to answer.” He flicked her again with his tongue and she moaned through her closed mouth. He praised, “Too smart to swallow.”

Cool air hit her thighs as he lifted the hem of her skirt up. Sansa shivered at the knowledge that her pussy was on display, glistening with need. Goosebumps decorated her flesh and Petyr chuckled as he gently brushed the back of his fingers against the red thatch of hair that both concealed and highlighted her seam. “Do you want to give me kisses?”

Sansa felt her pigtails bounce, tickling her shoulders as she vigorously nodded her head up and down. Together they closed their eyes and leaned into each other. As soon as their lips parted, everything poured down her chin and on his face. Petyr’s tongue plunged deep into her mouth, collecting every salty drop that lie within.

Without breaking contact, Petyr leaned forward and felt for the right drawer, pulling it open as Sansa moaned into his mouth, sliding her cum-soaked tongue against his. He felt around until he found the shape he was looking for and broke their kiss with a grin.

Sansa’s brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to discern why he would stop. Didn’t he know the ache was growing unbearable? “Spread your legs,” he directed as he held up their vibrator.

Her face flushed with excitement as she realized what he was going to do for her. “Yes, Sir.”

Sansa scooched down further on his lap so she could open herself to him more, allowing one leg to rest on his desk and the other to drape over the arm of his chair. Her unique aroma filled his nostrils and Petyr’s pupils dilated with more vested interest in the line of fire before him, pointing to her opening.

He flicked the vibrator on and the quiet hum sounded through the air. Sansa squeezed at nothing, eagerly anticipating his next move. She’d been so aroused for so long, Petyr knew she needed tending. There was no way he’d leave her without.

“Open yourself to me,” he purred in her ear.

She didn’t have to ask what that meant. He wanted her to peel back her lips and show him her hardened nub. He’d do it himself if his other hand wasn’t already occupied holding her to him. In her current position, she needed the support to keep from falling. Sansa reached down with one hand and parted herself with two fingers.

Petyr watched her eyes widen as he pressed the vibrator against her bundle of nerves. Sansa bucked in his lap, the sensation too much at first. He rolled it against her, lubricating the device in all of her natural juices. She twitched at each change in position, but grew used to it and found herself grinding up against the hard plastic. Petyr teased her with different levels of resistance and she turned to lick his chin clean in appreciation.

She was so red, so hot in his lap, that he couldn’t resist letting the vibrator dip lower and lower, to see more of her. He pressed the tip to her opening and asked, “You want me to fuck you with this?”

“No, Sir,” she panted.

He smiled and brought it back up to her clit. “And why not?”

She swallowed and took a breath, riding through the sensation. “Because you’re home, Sir. And the only thing allowed in my pussy when you’re home, is you.”

“Good girl, Sansa!” He praised. Petyr leaned in for another messy kiss, tasting only remnants of himself on her mouth that time. The voracity with which she kissed him back told him how much she needed to come. He broke their kiss, giving her bottom lip a little nibble as he did. “Because you’ve be so well-behaved today, I’m going to let you hold the vibrator.”

“But, but,” she started to pout, not understanding. “I like it better when you do it.”

“I know you do,” he said smugly. “But how can I finger-fuck you with my hands full?”

Her cheeks dimpled. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You earned it.”

Any other time she would have smacked him for such a comment, but in the throes of such arousal and roleplay, she was grateful he thought so. He handed her the device and she held it to herself, her mouth screwed in a little O. Petyr licked his first two fingers and then rubbed around the rim of her opening, teasing it, preparing her before he plunged inside.

Her eyes fluttered shut and he growled, “ _Look at me_.”

Sansa fought against heavy lids to crack her eyes open and hold his gaze. “ _Yes, Sir,_ ” she breathed.

Petyr felt for the spongy tissue behind the bundle of nerves she was feeding from the outside. She whimpered and trembled in his arms when he found it. “There we go,” he cooed to her. His fingers danced in and out of her, bumping and rubbing that same spot in rhythm with her thrusts and flexes. “That’s it. Go ahead, come for me.”

His voice was so soothing, so accepting, as his arm pumped hard against her. She let her eyes flutter shut again, losing the fight to keep them open, and her head fell back. “Let go, Sansa. I’ve got you.” Dizzy and disoriented by so much pleasure, Sansa felt as if she was floating away. The arm she’d been resting around the back of Petyr’s chair, flew up and her fingers found his hair, gripping it when she hit her peak. It was as if she were trying to keep herself from plummeting down to reality, hoping her grip would keep her there.

It was too late. The damage was already done, and each wave that rolled through her only verified it. She convulsed in his lap, looking gorgeous as she did. Sweat caked her hairline, the color rushing to all her sexiest places. The wanton way she’d been grinding herself against the vibrator and thrusting down on his fingers was nothing short of magnificent.

It was a couple of minutes before she calmed enough close her legs to sit up. They winced a little at the change in position, their muscles both having been worked and pressed against hard surfaces. Sansa touched her hand to her face and laughed. “I’m so messy.”

Petyr was about to reply that he was too, only to remember that she’d made sure to clean him. He’d feel guilty about it if it weren’t true to character. “We both need a shower. And you need to pee.”

“No I don’t,” she argued, slowly rising from her place in his lap and pulling the strap of her dress back up over her shoulder.

She didn’t bother looking for her panties as Petyr checked the time on his phone and decided they had plenty of time before the kids got home. He kicked his pants off of his ankles and stood up. “Remember what Luwin said? Urinating after sex helps to prevent UTIs.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed. “And this is why I hate taking you to the doctor with me. I’m not going to get a UTI.”

“How do you know?” He challenged as they stepped out into the hall, both partially dressed and looking wrecked.

Sansa shrugged. “Because I haven’t gotten one.”

“Since he told you about that,” Petyr finished.

“Seriously, Petyr.”

Petyr sighed. “Why can’t you just say ‘Yes, Sir,’ now?”

“Roleplay’s over,” she laughed and turned to walk down the hall.

“Yeah?” He caught her quickly, cupping her between her legs. “This is mine, roleplay or not. And I want it taken care of.”

Sansa looked away, hiding her smile. “ _Alright._ ”

“What was that?” He teased, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

“I said alright,” she repeated. “We’ll hop in the shower together and I’ll pee on your foot.”

“Oh!” He bit her neck. “You better not.”

Sansa laughed at the way his mouth tickled her neck. “We have another two and a half hours before the kids get home.” She looked back over her shoulder and winked at him. “What will you do to me if I do?”

 


	27. Aeternum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's POV -- fluffy mother's day piece. Takes place between Deadhead and Pride -- Sansa is 7 months preggers with Durran, it's about a week before she walks into Wolfswood to deliver wedding invitations. So those who have been reading Pride, you know what I'm getting at. There's some foreshadowing in this, you'll know it when you see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Mother's Day!!!!

Sansa tiptoed down the hallway to the best of her ability, which was quite compromised what with the natural inclination to waddle. Dreading the prospect of being spotted, she was sneaking around like a guilty teenager after curfew. If only. Instead, she was a full-grown woman, married and a mother, cursing any floorboard creek the shift of her generous weight from toe to heel caused.

It was ludacris that things had been reduced to this, but she had needs and she would take matters into her own hands if necessary. Petyr-be-damned! Varys could shove it too. She passed by Elenei’s room and held her breath, fearing even the sound of an exhale would stir the child from her slumber.

The tie on her robe came loose again and the garment opened, flashing the empty hallway. She cinched it closed again, irritated that there was no good place for the belt to rest. Every time she tied it around her belly, the satin material let it slide up over the bump. If she tied it below the belly, aside from looking ridiculous, it left the top too open and her breasts fell out. Petyr commented that he preferred her tie the belt lower, and she reminded him that his opinion wasn’t requested. In true Petyr fashion, he grinned so lasciviously that for a moment she forgot she was seven months pregnant and cumbersome for it, as if such a thing could slip the mind.

They’d been agonizing over a name for the child, when Sansa remembered Petyr’s much cherished album in the safe. It all came together for her then and she knew the boy growing in her belly could only be known as Durran. Petyr was pleased, but then again he had been frustratingly calm and agreeable since conception. It was as if Elenei had prepared him for everything, and he’d somehow become a pro at this whole pregnancy thing. Sansa on the other hand, felt as if she’d forgotten so much in just three years. This baby felt nothing like Elenei had.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, elation filled her at reaching her destination unhindered. She left the lights off as she made her way to the coffee maker and the canister of coffee next to it. A quick glance over her shoulder assured her she was alone, so she opened the cupboard and turned her belly away from the counter to reach way in the back, behind a big box of animal crackers. She glanced around her again before pulling out the jar she’d hidden.

It was _real_ coffee. Columbian--fully caffeinated.

She loaded the coffeemaker with her special secret and watched it percolate. It was going to be perfect, if for no other reason than that it was contraband, and she’d just successfully bucked the system. A sly grin found its way to her lips as she replaced the jar and shifted the box back to conceal it.

A familiar pair of hands found her waist, startling her. The cupboard door shut a little quicker and louder than necessary in her alarm.

“Morning,” Petyr purred over her shoulder, stubble tickling her.

Sansa took a deep breath to calm her heart, inhaling his scent as she did. He always smelled good, whether spritzed with expensive cologne or bare and tousled from bed. “Good morning.”

“You’re up early.” His hands slid around to hold her belly.

“Mm.” She sighed, because it felt good to be held by him, to have him holding their child. “I figured I’d make some coffee.” She omitted the fact that it wasn’t decaf.

He kissed her neck and rubbed small circles on her belly before he followed the curve up and to her chest. She felt him smile against her, cupping sensitive breasts as he said, “You’re up _too_ early.”

“ _Too_ early?” She asked, feeling the start of an erection press into her backside.

“Yes.” He kept his massage over the slippery material of her robe, this thumbs catching on the nubs that rose to the attention. “I had planned to give you one of your presents this morning before Elenei woke up.”

She shamelessly arched her back to further chase and fill the palms that paid her body homage, and reached back for his thigh. Sansa grabbed him by the pant leg and held him to her, demonstrating not only her consent, but encouragement. “She’s still sleeping. You could always _give it to me_ now. I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?” He teased, kissing her neck. “That’s so good to hear, Sansa.” He ground himself against her ass and groaned softly into her ear. “Cause I _need_ to give it to you now.”

“Mm, I bet you do,” she teased, pushing off the counter and back into him.  

Sansa moved her hand, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and pulling it down, ready to take him anywhere, any way, so long as she could feel him. She’d managed to tug one side down a couple of inches before she heard, _“Eww!”_

Petyr promptly stopped sucking her earlobe and let his hands drop back down to her belly. “Morning, Princess. Mummy and I were just having some hugs.”

“Too much hugs!” Elenei judged in disgust.

Sansa whirled around and smiled at Elenei, hoping an overabundance of happiness might compensate for the almost-traumatic experience of watching her parents go at it like rabbits in the kitchen. “Good morning, Sweetheart!”

She could feel Petyr shift behind her and knew he was adjusting his pants to sit on his hips again. Elenei was thankfully oblivious. “Happy Mother’s Day!” She squealed at the top of her lungs as if she was revealing a huge surprise.

Sansa crouched down as much as she could manage, mindful of the way her robe moved and picked Elenei up, letting her rest on her hip as she kissed her pudgy cheek. “Thank you.”

Elenei turned her head quickly and kissed Sansa in return. “Daddy and I got you a present.”

“You did?” She glanced at Petyr who had walked to the fridge and was standing with the door open. He wore only sweatpants and it made Sansa want to run her hands all over him.

Damn him for getting her so hot.

She had been just fine, perfectly satisfied sneaking a cup of real coffee in the wee hours of the morning before her family woke. Then he came and turned her crank and she was suddenly fantasizing about the many ways she’d molest him as soon as they had another moment alone.

“Yes! It’s pretty.” Elenei craned her neck around Sansa to look at Petyr. “Daddy! Give Mummy the present!”

Petyr set the carton of eggs he had in his hand down on the counter and fished a small box from his pocket, eyeing her warily as he did. “Please?”

“Please!”

Sansa shifted Elenei on her hip more to accept the small box. “You shouldn’t be carrying her,” Petyr chided. “She’s too heavy.”

“She’s fine,” Sansa assured him, then argued, “Pregnant women in Mereen carry their toddlers around all the time.”

“And our country’s more developed,” he countered.

She opened her mouth to disagree when Elenei’s little hand ripped the box from hers. “I made the paper. See?”

Sansa looked at the purple construction paper covered in various doodles that served as wrapping to the tiny box. “It’s lovely, Sweetheart.”

Elenei grinned proudly. “Open it!”

Sansa turned to set Elenei on the counter to free her other hand. Gently working the seam of the wrapping, to preserve her daughter’s artwork, Sansa was pleased to see the trademark Tiffany’s box within. She glanced at Petyr who in anticipation, had crossed his arms over his chest, partially obscuring the scar she adored and their daughter came to believe was just another one of those differences between boys and girls. Daddy being the only boy she’d ever seen without his shirt on. Except for Jon in the pool, and she already knew he was different from most people due to the fact that he didn’t speak. Perhaps she thought his lack of a scar was a deformity on his part.

Sansa pulled the top off the box to see a beautiful white-gold ring with four gemstones in the shape of a clover. There were two emeralds, a sapphire, and a peridot all brought together to form a symbol of good fortune. Sansa recognized the sapphire to be Elenei’s birthstone and the peridot to be her own. One of the emeralds was Petyr’s, but wondered why he had chosen another emerald. Durran’s birthstone would be either a ruby for July or another peridot for August. His due date was July thirtieth.

“Two emeralds?” She asked.

Petyr shrugged, “I couldn’t pick between a ruby or peridot, where he’s right on the cusp. So, I plan to replace the stone once we know which one he is. I figured I’d put another emerald in as a placeholder because clovers tend to be green.”

“Peridots are green,” she teased. “And it would have been a fifty-fifty shot that it was a peridot anyway.”

He nodded, “I know. I should have picked that, but for whatever reason, the emerald felt right.” He looked genuinely perturbed. “I can’t explain it.”

Drawing him from his troubled state, Sansa cupped his cheek and let her thumb stroke his goatee. “It’s a beautiful mother’s ring.”  

“It’s actually a family ring,” Petyr explained, taking the ring out of the box. He pointed to the inscription inside that read, _Aeternum._ “It’s latin for _Forever_. Because you’ll always be the mother of my children. You’ll always be my mine. Our family is forever.”

The sincerity in his voice made her own catch. “I love it,” Sansa gushed.

“Put it on!” Elenei exclaimed.

Just as Petyr was sliding it on her finger, there was a faint ring from the bedroom. “Go get Mummy’s phone, please.”

Elenei scampered off and Petyr pulled Sansa into a close embrace, his lips on her neck. “Do you like it? Really?”

“Yes, of course,” Sansa grinned. How could she not? It was given with such devotion. “Did she pick it out, or did you?”

“Both. We had it made.”

She turned to look him in the eye. “You did? How come a four leaf clover?”

“Because they are lucky, and you make me feel quite fortunate.” His hand came around to her belly again and spoke to it. “Are you going to kick? Or are you having a lazy morning?”

When nothing happened, Petyr pressed a little more insistently and was met with a strong kick that made them both chuckle. “He doesn’t like getting pushed around,” Sana teased, smiling proudly.

“Mm, like his mother.” Petyr leaned in, tickling her lips with his until she opened to his kiss.

Sansa whispered, “And his father.”

Elenei bounded into the kitchen holding Sansa’s phone in the air. “Here you go! Now I wanna see it!” Petyr sighed and relinquished his hold, turning back to the eggs on the counter. Sansa accepted the phone and held her ringed finger out for Elenei to see as she checked the missed call.

It was Cersei.

“So pretty!” Elenei praised and then turned away to start pestering Petyr to buy her one too.

It was rather early to be calling, peaking Sansa’s curiosity. She pecked a kiss to the top of Elenei’s head as she zoomed by and tapped Cersei’s contact. Within seconds the Lannister queen answered, “Get any good swag?”

Sansa laughed and eyed her ring. “Thoughtful and expensive.”

“Perfect combo. Either Baelish is trying to make up for fucking up, or he wants something,” Cersei chuckled.

Sansa glanced over at Petyr, her gaze traveling the length of his scar to the happy dusting of hair that trailed blow the waistband of his sweats, the slight V of his pelvis taunting her with it’s exposure. “Oh, he wants something,” she replied, preoccupied by naughty thoughts.

Petyr’s brows lifted at her, a light smirk completing the look. She blew him an air-kiss and then turned back towards the counter. Her hand rubbed her belly, soothing her now rather active son (thanks for that Petyr) as she asked, “What about you?”

“Let’s see, Joffrey had gold accenting installed in my Porshe, which was a relief cause as soon as it was out of the garage, I thought that little shit had stolen it. I’m not kidding, Jaime was pissed, froze his accounts and everything. Never had we imagined he was spiriting it away for an upgrade.”

Sansa laughed, glancing over to the coffeemaker, noticing it was done. She couldn’t blame Jaime and Cersei for jumping to the worst, Joffrey didn’t do much for them to be proud of.

“Myrcella got me a spa gift card, as if I need gift cards. But, it’s the thought that counts.”

Sansa nodded, reaching for a coffee cup, and then remembered Cersei couldn’t see her nod. “It is,” she agreed aloud.

Cersei continued, “Tommen got me a pair of Gucci sunglasses and had an invitation professionally printed, for a beach day.”

“Wow,” Sansa remarked, pouring the coffee in her cup.

“Yeah, the glasses are cute,” Cersei admitted. “But he knows I don’t do sand.”

Sansa chuckled again, reaching in the fridge for the creamer.

“And Jaime got me this beautiful Coach purse, with gold flecks over the ivory leather, and gold chain straps. Which, I’ll be honest, as pretty as it is, was a let down. Until I opened it and found a set of matching restraints, a bag of shrooms, and a new safe word engraved inside a gorgeous diamond tennis bracelet.”

Sansa grinned as she poured the cream in her cup and stirred it, trying not to allow morbid curiosity to compel her to ask what the word was. “Sounds perfect.”

“He knows me so well,” Cersei beamed over the phone.

Sansa set the spoon down. Petyr appeared next to her and snatched the cup of coffee she’d just prepared. He mouthed, _Thanks_ , and walked away.

Pursing her lips in irritation, Sansa spoke into the phone, “I’m gonna to have to call you back.”

“Happy Mother’s Day, Little Dove.”

“You too,” Sansa replied before ending the call and quickly rounded on Petyr. “Excuse me?”

He brought the hot cup to his lips as he poked at the eggs frying on the stove. “Light roast is extremely caffeinated.”

“Good thing we only buy dark roast then,” she argued, knowing the coffee on the counter was the approved dark roast.

He smirked and took another sip. “That’s what I thought, until Elenei asked for a snack yesterday. Imagine my surprise when I grabbed the box of animal crackers out of the cupboard and found a jar of light roast.”

“Dammit, Petyr!” She groaned. “I need the caffeine.”

“You don’t. You’ve survived without it before.”

“Barely.”

He set the cup down and turned the burner off, giving her a look of pity. “It’s only eight more weeks. Two months. You can do this.”

“I get two hundred milligrams a day,” she protested, ignoring reason.

Petyr wrapped her up in his arms again. “And do you want to blow them all at once?”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” she pouted into his neck.

He stroked the long strands of her hair over her shoulder and down her back. “I know and good mothers don’t put their babies at risk with poor choices.”

“I hate you right now,” she huffed.

“No you don’t.” He kissed the top of her head, his amusement with her plight obvious. She turned to glare at him and he cleared his throat. His hands moved to her belly, and she wasn’t fooled. It was a distraction, and she knew it.

Luckily, the feel of Durran kicking and flipping under his touch mattered more to her and she was willing to be sidetracked. Her hands moved to cover his. “No, I don’t.”

“Dance with me?” He whispered into her hair.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “There’s no music.”

“Easily remedied.”

He reached behind her and within minutes music piped through the speakers in the kitchen. “Do you know this song?” He asked.

“No, but it sounds familiar.”

“It was the song playing at the Doghouse, the moment I saw you.”

Sansa pulled away enough to look him in the eye. “No. Seriously?”

He nodded.

Her heart grew inside her chest and she felt fit to burst. Wanting nothing more than to pounce on him right then and there she took a deep breath and reminded herself that Elenei’s nap wasn’t for another five hours. For the thousandth time since she’d become pregnant, Sansa cursed the hormones that ran roughshod over her emotions and resulting urges.

She turned in his arms and snuggled him close, letting him sway her to the sound of a song she’d long since forgotten. “I still want my coffee,” she gently huffed into his neck.

“I know,” he grinned in her ear.

“Can we compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

Sansa tickled her lips against his jaw. “What about half and half? Half decaf, half regular?”

“With dark roast.”

“We already have a jar of light-”

“Dark or not at all,” he insisted.

Sansa sighed, resting her forehead against his cheek as they moved. “I really do hate you for this.”

“If I remember correctly, you admitted you had terrible willpower when it came to caffeine and you asked me for my support.” Petyr stroked a hand over her hair again. “This hurts me more than it does you.”

“Doubtful.”

“You think I like having my wife sneak out of bed in the morning before I’ve had a chance to properly wake her? For what? To get a cup of coffee. As if that’s more important,” he groaned, completely martyred.

It made her giggle.

“What?”

“You’re jealous of _caffeine_ now…”

“Hardly.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

She laughed. “Oh my god, Petyr. _You are!”_

“Well, can you blame me? You’re hiding it, sneaking around, creeping out of our bed.”

Sansa laughed again. “You’re ridiculous. And adorable.” Before he could say anything, she raised her hand to flash her new ring. “Allow me to put your jealous mind at ease. You and me are forever. Says so right here.” Pecking a kiss to his cheek she added, “And if I wanted caffeine more than you, I wouldn’t have asked you to help me stay away from it.”

A satisfied grin grew and he turned to catch her lips in a tender kiss her when Elenei screeched from the living room. “Eww! Again?!”

They both sighed and gave each other commiseratory looks before Petyr kissed her forehead. “Happy Mother’s Day, Sansa.”

 

 


	28. Dynasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calon's pov from waaaay in the future. Originated from a prompt using the word: Dynasty
> 
> WARNING: Petyr's dead in this tidbit...so skip it if you don't want to be sad.

 

“Do you know why Mommy sent you to me?”

The sour pout of the pimply-faced teenager in front of him ceased only long enough to assert, “I’m sixteen, Gramps. I haven’t called her ‘Mommy’ for a very long time.”

“Oh, I forgot. You’re a big man now,” Calon mocked, his withered finger poking at the holster-shaped bulge under the kid’s coat. “Got yourself a gun and everything.”

His youngest grandson hesitated a moment before mouthing off. “So what if I do? You probably do too locked away in some old peanut brittle tin.” 

Calon had to chuckle at that. The boy wasn’t far off, but he’d given up peanut brittle ages ago, when he got the dentures. While it would have been preferable to give up the guns too, he’d lived in this city long enough to know even old codgers like himself could find need of a weapon. Growing tired, as he so often did now, Calon asked again, “Do you know why your mother asked me to speak with you?” 

“Yeah. She doesn’t want me to grow up,” his grandson over-simplified. 

Not taking the bait, Calon stared out at the posh cemetery before him. “Did she ever tell you what I used to do for a living, before I started keeping the grounds?” He tapped his thigh. “Before I got disabled?”

He nodded. “Said you used to carry for them--the Baelishes. She said you even knew the originals.”

“That’s right.” Calon remembered all too well the way Elenei and Durran Baelish cornered him and decided his fate. 

_ Mother likes you _ , Elenei Baelish said. 

_ Have you ever shot anyone? _ Durran Baelish asked. 

“So then you understand.” 

Calon shook his head, the intrusion forcing him to leave the past behind. “I do. More than most. But for me, there was no choice in the matter. For you, it’s different.”

His grandson sighed. “No. I mean yes, I guess. But like, it feels like it’s just something I gotta do. You know?”

A calling. 

Yes. Calon understood that feeling all too well, having experienced a couple of them in his youth. First to the FBI, and then to medical school. He married young, doing the right thing by the wrong girl. She appreciated the prestige of being Mrs. Federal Agent, but feared the danger in it and demanded he take a desk job. His balls were too big to let them get crushed by a highschool sweetheart, so he looked into his other options--medical school being top of the list.

That was until he pissed off the wrong chief and ended up in the morgue, autopsying any government commandeered body, bagging errant evidence and filing reports on his findings. It was soul-crushing work and definitely not what he’d aspired to be when he grew up, but it kept the missus off his back and paid better than working in his parents furniture shop. 

He’d only been working there for a year, and had completely resigned himself to it, the night word came from above that Littlefinger--himself was rolling down to be processed. Calon only stood stunned by the news of the great patriarch’s death for a moment before a sick feeling settled in his stomach. To this day he couldn’t explain it, the small premonitory feeling that took over, forcing him to yank his apron off and run for his locker, the urge to flee so strong. 

His direct superior flung the double doors open and caught him mid-escape. “Going somewhere, Calon?” 

“It’s the wife. She’s unwell, needs me home,” he lied. 

On any other night, his excuse would have worked. This night, however, the air was rife with a nervous energy, and his boss wasn’t about to let him leave just as they were getting such an important delivery. Littlefinger was a heavy hitter--real mafia royalty.

Little did anyone realize at the time, that the man had founded a whole goddamned  _ dynasty _ . Calon was in his mid twenties when he stood in the FBI morgue, staring down at the infamous body in front of him, his fingers trembling too much to press the button on his recorder. 

He rubbed a cracked palm over the back of his weathered neck, trying to count and losing track of just how many years it had been since that night--how many generations of Baelishes had been born since. 

The gunfire was the first thing he heard from the basement, loud and unrestrained. Automatic artillery pumping rounds as if ammo was infinite. Calon’s stomach jumped in his throat as he glanced down at the fallen king and felt for the first time just how limitless things were for Baelishes. 

The next thing he heard was the sound of a motorcycle revving, brakes screeching. At first it sounded like it came from above, and then it sounded like it was all around him, racing down corridors, squealing on sharp turns. “Guard Littlefinger with your life!” His boss screamed, loading a clip in his pistol. 

Yeah right. 

Calon had better things to do than protect a cadaver from whatever psychotic force wanted to--what? Harm it more? No. Fuck that. Dead was dead and he had a shit life to get back to. 

He watched the man run through the double doors, hollering back over his shoulder, “That body is evidence!” 

As soon as he left, Calon ran for the swinging doors, looking for any way to barricade himself, and finding absolutely none. That was when he heard a low growl resonate in the air, the tone just deep and subtle enough to fade in and out under the cacophony of chaos above. There was a window high up on the outer wall of the washroom. It was thin and he was bound to get a little stuck in it, but he’d take his chances. 

The Baelishes were coming for their own and he’d be damned if he was there for it. 

He was fiddling with the handles, trying to get them to latch when he spied them through the little rectangular window, cloudy with dust and grime. Was it too much to expect a cleaning crew would do any more than smoke out back and push a mop bucket around for posterity’s sake? 

Littlefinger’s family--in the flesh, stood at the end of the hall, looking gorgeous and deadly. A ginger man with greying temples stood to the left, his hand down, resting on the back of what looked like a rabid wolf. The beast was too controlled to truly be as wild as he appeared, though that obvious fact did little to calm the storm of adrenaline in Calon. Next to the ginger who he later learned was Littlefinger’s son, was a dark haired man looking about the same age, though much more physically fit and slightly less grey. He sat on a motorcycle and eyed him down the hall. On back was a woman with jet black hair and ice blue eyes so bright he could see them thirty yards away. Elenei Baelish--Littlefinger’s daughter. 

They parted, allowing an older woman to walk between them. She looked like one of those classic movie stars, perfect posture and gait. Long silvered hair resting just below her shoulders, showing hints of strawberry blonde, an echo of her youth. She held a bottle in the crook of one elbow and two empty glasses in her other hand, her eyes blurry with emotion.

There was no mistaking Littlefinger’s woman. 

Sansa Baelish was just as notorious, and rumored to be even less forgiving. And she was walking towards him, holding his gaze as she approached. Before Calon had enough presence of mind to lift his jaw, she was in front of him. There were lines around her eyes and to either side of her mouth that he hadn’t seen at first. Age had treated her well, but it had affected her nonetheless. Her arm extended, holding a glass up to him. “Were you the one assigned to my husband?”

Calon blinked down at it, glancing around her to the menacing family that had parked themselves at the end of the hallway. They looked so out of place, and yet Calon was sure anyone who dared tell them so wouldn’t last past the time it took to reload a clip. Mrs. Baelish gave a sad smile and explained, “They won’t attack you, Mr.-?”

Swallowing back glass shards, Calon got the saliva moving again enough to reply weakly, “Calon.” He didn’t dare tell her his surname, hoping perhaps a first name only would make him less trackable should he need it. 

She tilted her head at him and then smirked. It was empty, lacking in any real amusement or mirth, but served its purpose all the same. The woman knew what he was up to, any attempt at subterfuge was futile. Still, she seemed to allow it to pass, her free arm snaking under his. “Take me to him,” she commanded, her tone as calm as if she was being escorted to a garden party. It was clear she hadn’t feared anything in a very long time. 

Automatic rifles fired a hail of bullets above them, the doors to either end of the hall lit up with the pulse action shots. The screams were penetrating, and only served to make her lips twitch in the slightest semblance of a smile, promising so much pain. The dog’s nostrils flared, smelling the carnage that wafted through the air. “My nieces and nephews,” she explained the murder above, leading him forward. “The whole family is taking his passing hard.” 

That was an understatement. 

No sooner had they passed through the door, had her eyes landed on the body of her husband. Her step halted a moment, swallowing down hard. It was pure horror that struck her face. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, her eyes furiously blinking, a determined sniff. “Have you cut him open yet?” She asked. 

Her soft sweet feminine voice had filled so suddenly with raw menace, that Calon found his own voice catching, managing only a nervous head shake in denial. 

“Good,” she replied, letting go of his arm to stride closer to the man on the table. “No one touches him but me.” 

Calon glanced away, considering the small window in the restroom. Her voice was sharp as she asked, “Is that understood?” 

He turned quickly, guilty. “Yes, Mrs. Baelish.”

The clang of the expensive bottle setting down on the metal table, sounded against the sterile walls. “Be a dear, and pour us a drink, will you?” She was polite enough to phrase the order as a question. Her hands moving instantly to the sheet that covered her husband’s naked body, tugging it down gently, gradually. 

Not brave enough to chance her wrath, though they were technically alone and she was so much frailer than he, Calon reached for the bottle. He watched her eyes soften, a faint smile touching her lips as her thumb brushed the long-healed scar that ran the length of his torso. Calon scarcely had a moment alone with him to see for himself the legendary mark, before she offered it a private affection. “I didn’t know,” she explained, not looking up. “He kept it from me.” 

Surely she couldn’t have meant the scar? She had to be referring to something else. Calon struggled to find the right words to say. Finally admitting defeat, failing to offer the proper condolences, he poured a glass of the expensive cognac. She didn’t look, but knew he’d only poured the one because she pushed the empty glass forward.

Her other hand reached up and traced the outline of his face, her voice so small as she said, “He was always so confident, so certain of everything. I used to think it was because he was older than me, but it was just who he was.” 

Fighting the shake in his hand, Calon carefully poured the second glass, wondering who it was for. She had said,  _ us _ , but she couldn’t have meant to share a drink with him of all people. 

“He listened to me, too. Only man that ever had. Really, truly listened.” She shook her head at a memory he wasn’t privy to, her cheek lifting a little. “Especially when I didn’t want him to hear.”

Calon nodded, forcing an uncomfortable smile of his own. 

She reached forward to grab a glass, and clinked it off the other before lifting it to her lips and downing its contents. Calon was more than a little shocked to see a woman so mature, hold her liquor so expertly. She threw her head back to the ceiling, closing her eyes as she swallowed. “Fuck, I’m going to miss the feel of his hand on the small of my back, leading me into a room--through life.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Taking me with him.” 

It was then he noticed the gun sticking out of her purse. She hadn’t concealed it very well, and he supposed he would have seen it sooner if she hadn’t looked the exact opposite of the kind of woman to pack a gun. 

He hadn’t the chance to wonder how suicidal she may be, before she pulled the sheet further back and asked, “Where are his clothes?”

“Uh, here.” He produced them quickly, wondering why she would bother with them. 

She pressed the bundle of clothes to her nose, inhaling whatever scent lingered on them. The tears she’d been doing a great job of controlling, streamed down her cheeks, completely unabashed. A muffled howl of a pain so mortal it sent chills up his spine, sobbed into the fabric. The woman looked completely and utterly broken and he knew no words would suffice. 

Calon took a cautious step back, knowing he couldn’t escape, but feeling the need to put some distance between himself and her grief. His foot was mid-lift when he heard a gun cock. She was old, but her reflexes were still sound. Panic washed through him, perspiration staining through his shirt. He raised his hands up, palms out, fingers splayed. “No, please,” he begged. 

He was sure she would have shot him right then and there and not batted an eyelash over it, if it hadn’t been for one thing. The terrible marriage he was certain had been sucking the soul from him each day he made the trek down to the morgue instead of out in the field making a name for himself, was exactly what saved his life. His plain gold wedding band shimmered in the light and caught her eye. 

“You’re married?” 

He let his eyes glance down to see where her free hand had landed, it was holding her husband’s. On impulse he nodded his head. “Yes, I am.” 

She sniffed and lowered her gun back to her purse. Tears dripped from her chin as she looked back down to the beloved body before her. “You may live.” 

Air filled his lungs in large painful gasps and his knees wobbled beneath him. Her voice sounded underwater when she added, “Send my children in.” 

And that was it. 

That night sealed his fate. 

Whether he wanted to or not, he’d just gained favor with the most important woman in the city. The man on the motorcycle clasped his hand on his shoulder and told him he was made; he was an associate of the Baelish family and that when they called him, he was to answer. 

Looking into the youthful eyes before him, his daughter’s worried voice ringing in his ears, Calon cringed to think of the boy joining the Baelish family ranks. They weren’t a bad family to work for--not like some others, but crime was crime. What grandfather would want such regrets for his grandson? “Trust an old man when he tells you, feelings lie.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Calon glanced over to the elaborate granite mausoleum that was the Baelishes’ final resting place. “When you are called to serve, it won’t be a feeling. You’ll know.”

  
  
  



	29. Scandalous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV, after part 5 -- prompt word: Scandalous

They had been expecting the call for weeks now, Sansa dying of anticipation the entire time. She even had a bag packed and ready by the door as if it were her own baby arriving in the dead of night. (As if he’d ever suffer a single night at home without her again--no, not after everything they’d been through.) So determined to be there for her sister, Sansa kept her phone on the highest volume, alert to the potential ring.

It hadn’t been at night when Gendry called, but instead just after they’d eaten breakfast. Petyr watched Sansa’s face light up at the news, hearing Arya threaten bystanders in the background.

It was time.

Petyr stayed back, familiar enough now with the ways of childbirth. It would be a long time before Arya was actually pushing, a lot of rolling on exercise balls, sitting in pools, etc. Arya was a small woman, it would have only been right that she be small in all areas of her body--areas he actually cringed to think of, having come to see her as the closest thing to a sister of his own.

He focused on work--and the children, all the while knowing Sansa was holding her sister’s hand, counting contractions and whispering words of encouragement into sweat-matted hair. It wasn’t until after he had tucked Elenei in bed, reading two back-to-back stories, and waited at least two, ten minute intervals of sleep-training tears for little Durran to fall asleep, that he retired to his study. No more than an hour had passed after that before he was too restless to stay put.

The smell of hospital hit him, and he was certain it would linger on his clothing. Such sterility emanating from a place where life, both young and old, was cherished and fought hard for, seemed like such a contradiction. This was a different hospital than the ones Sansa had delivered in, though he supposed all hospitals were essentially the same. There would be an information booth that would direct him where to go, a gift shop that would guilt him into buying something elaborate and overpriced, and a nurse’s station that would give him greater details.

Labor and Delivery was on the fifth floor in this hospital, right above Cardiac and below Pediatrics. He didn’t muse over the rhyme and reason of it for long, when the elevator doors opened and the muffled sounds of women howling through walls assaulted him. Was Arya still one of these women? Or was she on the other side of it?

Sansa hadn’t messaged him with any updates, meaning they were probably still in the thick of it. Doubtful she would call a time-out on her sister’s labor so that she might shoot him a text that said something to the effect of: _Still at it._

The nurses’ station was about ten feet from the elevator door, a buzz of activity scooting in and out from behind the counter. A woman with obvious box-dye red hair in a poodle perm sat hunched over the desk, speaking into the phone. He waited patiently, knowing she couldn’t see him, too rapt in conversation.

“I know!” She exclaimed. Petyr smiled and glanced down the hall.

“I did a double-take when I saw them,” she chirped. Petyr clutched the flowers in his arm, listening to the plastic crinkle in his elbow.

“Scandalous! Absolutely scandalous!” She gossiped. Petyr cleared his throat.

She shook her head, ignoring his subtle cues in her periphery. “I mean, can you believe it? _Two daddies!”_  She clucked her teeth and sighed, “No. She doesn’t know which one; that’s why they’re both here. That girl is nothing but white trash.”

 _Two daddies_ \--Arya.

Offense took to asperity as Petyr plotted the woman’s pain. With more force than necessary, he rapped the counter to get her attention. She looked up, wide-eyed, jaw slack. Her idiot friend blabbering echoed through the earpiece.

Petyr’s lips curled back into a murderous grin. “Oh good. I see you recognize me. That always saves time.”

She gaped back at him, a slight delay before nodding her empty head.

“Close your mouth. I’m not interested in you dental work.” It was difficult to keep his tone pleasant, so much rancor beneath the surface.

Her mouth quickly snapped shut, feeling every bit the vulnerable prey to his bloodthirsty predator. Arya was family. She wasn’t ‘trash’ by any stretch of the standard, and the idea that someone dared to suggest she was, made his palms itch to punish. “On second thought, it is really the only way to identify you.”

“No, Mr. Baelish please!” The shrill plea for life was music to his ears. He closed his eyes to better appreciate the sound of her panic. “No! Please, I am-”

“A mouthy cunt who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Yes. I gathered that,” he finished for her, only too pleased to. She would get no sympathy or reprieve for being stupid. Not when it came to family--especially not Arya. She was the only Stark that seemed to strike a balance between devotion to her sister, and reason in regard to him.

He wouldn’t allow her name be sullied, neither would Sansa. Keeping this woman alive would feel like a disloyalty to his wife. Having made his mind up, he called over his shoulder, “Brune.”

“No! No, Mr. Baelish-”

He put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Best not make a scene.”

Her protests were muffled when Brune scurried her away, as a wolf separates a sheep from the herd. She’d be torn apart and the pack would be stronger for it.

Having disposed of the receptionist, he leaned over the counter to read the room numbers off the monitor. It took a moment, not knowing right away where to focus his attention for the information he wanted, but he found it. Arya’s room was only four doors down and he was there in a second, tapping the door frame as he stepped inside.

The curtain was partially closed and he wondered if he’d caught them at a bad time, but heard the soft murmur of relaxed voices and kept his pursuit. There was a lounge chair off to the side, the back to it high, but he could see Sansa sitting in it regardless. A small bundle lay in her arms, her smile proud as she asked, “Isn’t he handsome?”

Petyr didn’t respond at first, not sure who she was talking to until she looked up at him. She must have heard him coming. He reached for her, resting his hand on her shoulder, leaning over to look down. “He’s a fine looking boy.”

“See? What did I tell ya Punky?” Bronn kissed her head.

“Our boy’s healthy and strong, just like his Mum,” Gendry praised, squeezing her hand in his.

Arya nodded and took a deep breath, looking beyond exhausted.

“How’s your pain?” Petyr asked, because it seemed the thoughtful thing to inquire upon.

In true Arya fashion, she responded bluntly, “It’s still fucking there.”

That was to be expected, but that didn’t mean he liked the idea of her suffering. He felt an odd sense of protectiveness towards the girl who already had not one--but two men looking out for her. Petyr thought of the only way he could be helpful. “Where’s the nurse?”

“I sent her away,” Arya huffed.

“Why would you do that?” Petyr asked the obvious.

Arya shook her head and he wasn’t sure she was going to answer. Finally, she pursed her lips and explained, “I didn’t like the way she stared at us”

Sansa tensed under his palm.

“I told you. I’d teach her manners after we were done needing her,” Bronn chided Arya.

Gendry rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. “You look like you still need a nurse, Muscles.”

“I’m fine.”

Sansa drew a deep breath and looked back at her nephew. “You didn’t happen to catch her name, did you?” She asked with the sweetest venom.

Petyr bit the inside of his cheek, overjoyed to see their instincts so well-matched. He brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder and vowed softly, “It’ll be taken care of.” He stared down into the baby’s blue eyes and smiled. “We won’t stand for anyone being mean to your Mummy. Will we...?”

He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know the child’s name. Perceptive as she always was, Arya discerned what was stalling him and called from her bed, “Gunar. We’re calling him Gunar.”

Petyr looked down at the face, suddenly so different now that it had a name. So little and innocent, Gunar had his whole future ahead of him--a future shared with Elenei and Durran. His little fingers wrapped around Sansa’s, squeezing tightly.

“He’s strong,” she cooed.

“Mm,” Petyr replied, thinking, _He’ll make a great right._

  



End file.
